Under the Harvest Moon
by Petite09
Summary: At the bottom of a broken staircase, Angelina is whimpering in pain as a shape methodically approaches her. Preparing herself to be left to a horrific and bloody death, she could not possibly guess Michael Myers' true intentions I do not own Halloween
1. Chapter 1

A harsh pain surged through me and forced me to cough brutally until blood erupted from my mouth. I couldn't move for when I attempted to do so my limbs would scream in angry protest and there was no one around to help me. The only sounds that emerged from me were pathetic whimpers for my voice was choked into silence. There I lay, bruised and beaten, torn at the bottom of the splintered wooden staircase. I needed to cry out, someone had to hear me but my eyes were blurred with fresh tears because she had abandoned me there. But my thoughts were thrust from her betrayal and to the horrid sound of heavy footsteps resounding in my ears. Slow footsteps that pressed into the wood as he left the corridor and with what little light available, I could see a dark figure standing at the top of the stairs, glaring down at me. There were exactly thirteen steps between myself and the shape and every fiber of my being demanded, shouted that I flee for my very life.

"_Laurie! Laurie, please come back! Help me!_" I croaked as the figure gradually began to descend the steps, the pale light shining from the outdoor light post reflected off the steel blade of his large kitchen knife.

The methodical way he approached, with no hurry as I attempted to shift my weight backward only made my heart pound harder in my chest. I was sobbing uncontrollably because no one was going to help me, no one would remember me. The menacing weapon was held tightly in his grip and before I could cry out again, it stared down at me, ready to make its home in my flesh. None of my efforts were to any avail, because I had fallen face first and rolled and thumped down the staircase and landed in a heap at the base. Now the figure stood over me, the largest man I had ever seen and his onyx black eyes bore down into mine as I begged for my life.

"Please! Let me live!"

The rest of his face was concealed behind the white mask, one that would have been hokey if not worn by a deranged murderer. He cocked his head to the side, as if he were surveying me and then he did the unthinkable—he slowly slid the enormous knife into the pocket of his soiled mechanic's uniform. I did not dare to hope, only laid there and trembled violently and prayed that someone would notice I was gone, someone would think to search for me. But the stiff man began to lower, his body bending until he was kneeling at my side and he was staring even deeper into my own gaze. The only sound I could hear was my own whimpers and his harsh breathing, the deep inhaling and exhaling that would haunt me forever. Before I could fathom what he was doing, he was reaching for me and lifting me from the disgusting, dirt-ridden floor of what would have been the basement fifteen years before. Immediately I renewed my spirit, ordering myself to fight this monster as he lifted my broken body into his steely arms.

My limbs were on fire as he pulled me upward into his primitive embrace and instantly my nostrils were assailed with the smell of pine, gun smoke and something more sinister—blood. I was reduced to a hostage, too wounded to offer a proper resistance and as he rose with me in his arms, I was sure that I would find my way to a rapidly growing teenage body count he'd fashioned during the course of the night. Happy Halloween, Angie.

The basement door was nothing but a rickety piece of wood much like the boards that covered the doors and windows of the abandoned structure. With a mere kick, the board cracked and flew to the ground and the night air whirled around me. The only thing that was warm was the arms of my captor, who cradled me against him as if I were a child. I was too drowsy to fight now, he would find me at his mercy as I assumed he expected. He stepped from the house and into what was the backyard, now overgrown with weeds and crabgrass. I didn't know where he was going to take me, but I hoped that death would come with less pain as I was in at that moment.

"Angelina! Oh, God he's got her!"

That voice, that cut through the night's air and sent shivers up my spine. She hadn't left me, my dearest friend had come back for me! I tried to call out to her but my voice was still in my throat, my head feeling heavy and my eyes swimming. The beast turned around slowly until he was standing before a multitude of blue and right lights. Laurie stood with Dr. Loomis, that man that had questioned us earlier that day at the police station. She was crying out my name, blood coming from a shallow gash on her forehead, but she was gesturing to the man to put me down. This was...Michael. Dr. Samuel Loomis, his shocking white hair and wide eyes were what I recalled first as he demanded that Michael put me down.

"_Michael_! Let the poor girl go, she's done nothing. It was _I_ that failed you, not the people of Haddonfield but _me_!"

Loomis' pleas fell on deaf ears and I felt my captor, Michael, press me closer to him in what I supposed was a possessive manner but again, I was unable to respond to any of this. There was still the gnawing pain but it was being swallowed by a severe numbness that started from my legs and spread upward. Several police officers stalked forward, armed and afraid, a dangerous combination. Loomis demanded they withdraw for Michael was still holding me, a major risk and while some took a step back, none lowered their weapons.

"Michael please put her down she's not who you came for, _but me_! I'm who you want just let my friend go!" Laurie cried between her sobs.

At that moment I felt Michael stiffen and he looked down at me, and though I could feel my consciousness slipping away, I was able to meet his gaze directly and saw those onyx black eyes flash a deep blue. That look in his eyes was laced with so many emotions and only grew worse as he seemed to be recognizing me; his smoldering blue eyes held concern and something I could not comprehend.

"M-Michael," I managed, my blood escaping my lips as I coughed. My chest hurt and my lungs burned, and yet the numbness was finding it and before I could call out for help, I was mesmerized and it was the last thing that I saw, just when the bullet sang through the air.


	2. Chapter 2

I had grown up with the story of the bogeyman and had never truly taken it seriously beyond a few stories surrounding an abandoned house a few blocks from my own. Not a large town, Haddonfield had a cozy feel where everyone knew one another, that same post-World War II illusion permeating every flower bed and enveloping every PTA meeting. My idyllic childhood had in no way prepared me for when I finally opened my eyes. I felt the warmth of a thick blanket pulled up below my chin and for a brief moment I thought I had only suffered a powerful dream, bred from the usual Halloween hyjencks, further induced by a sugar-coma. But I was smart, possibly valedictorian material if it weren't for my best friend Laurie...

At that moment my eyes darted open wider to reveal my location. My body was jostled slightly and the more I gained conscious the more I was met with an extreme mixture of pain and numbness in my legs and chest and my right arm. I licked my lips, tasting the metal-tang of something semi-dry there and I recognized it as my own blood. Swallowing hard, I turned to gaze at my surroundings and discovered myself on a leather car seat, strapped about the waist to a middle seat belt. My head was pillowed by what felt like a knapsack but my eyes began to burn so I couldn't strain to see in the dark. Gradually I dragged my eyes to peer upward and found the menacing reality resurface with maddening speed. Michael Myers.

Somehow he had escaped with me into the cove behind his house and now I was tucked into the back seat of a stolen car, driven by a madman. My mind tried to race to piece together a plan for escape but with my legs twisted beneath me, I had no hope of fleeing on foot and I had nothing sharp to fight off my captor. Even as I thought of it the image of his silver blade piercing the flesh of that officer was still fresh in my mind and I whimpered aloud involuntarily, but still drawing his attention. He turned his head to the side before resuming looking at the road and I felt the car began to retard its speed and shift to the right, a clear sign that he was pulling over. I coughed hard as we skidded a little onto the gravel, feeling more wetness spout from my mouth, clearly blood and I whimpered at the fresh pain in my side.

He didn't turn off the car, just opened the driver's side door and thrust himself out before yanking the door by my head outward and allowed a whoosh of cold November air whip into the cabin of the vehicle. The eerie silence was broken by the sound of the wind and his controlled and harsh breathing. Michael reached in and carefully gathered me into his arms and when I cried out in pain I was surprised when he loosed his grip before carrying me into the woods by the highway. I prayed someone would happen along and call for help but the sound of his breathing was so loud in my ear that my thoughts were drowned out and I calmed. He walked along through the darkness, careful to turn me away from any branches, ducking to keep them from scratching me and all the while I maintained an unsteady focus on his head. Masked to the point that nothing from the neck up was visible a part of me wished to see beneath the plastic and synthetic hair but I dared not provoke him further; he'd tried to kill his sister and I had little doubt he wouldn't eventually turn on me.

I only looked forward when we came upon an old shack with one single light in the bigger room with smoke rising from a small metal chimney on the roof. How had he found this place? Had he built this place?

"Michael?" I croaked, before pursing my lips closed.

He didn't make a sound, only slowly turned his head to face me and blinking twice before looking forward and proceeding walking. The door was weather-worn and left ajar and while balancing me for a second he opened it, the hinges screaming with rust. Once inside I blinked several times and squinted against the dull light and found a wood burning stove, homemade chairs and a table. There was a mattress on the floor with blankets and sheets; probably stuffed with straw and fleas. Dead animals were stuffed and mounted on the walls and a generator sat in one corner, powering an ice box. Someone recently lived here and I gulped when considering their fate and prayed he had not mounted their bodies in the same fashion. Before I had time to ponder this, Michael carried me toward the mattress and slowly lowered me down upon it, remembering my injuries and quickly replaced the first blanket with the ones on the mattress. My head was cushioned by a soft pillow and I felt the warmth of the stove envelope me. I gave another violent cough that racked my entire body but was settled when a large hand ran itself over my forehead, across my hair. Gazing upward I found Michael's black eyes had dissolved into a brilliant blue and held what looked like sympathy. Was that possible? Michael Myers was a cold-blooded killer that stalked Haddonfield streets and murdered at whim with not an ounce of humanity to help him invoke remorse. But then how would I account for the gentleness of his caress? Why had he not killed me yet?


	3. Chapter 3

*Author's Note*

I was terrified of submitting this and I still am to be honest, but it really warmed my heart to see reviews and I hope you enjoy the next couple chapters! XOXOX

~I don't own Halloween~

"Oh, hey there! I thought I heard something and I made sure I made enough food for you when you might come on back,"

Turning my head I saw an old man, standing but somewhat slouched but with a striking look that spoke of years of hard wilderness living. This must be his cabin, I thought and he obviously knew Michael.

"Who've you got there?" the old man inquired, his bushy eyebrows creasing into one.

Michael took my hand and held it up and pulled down the blanket, ignoring my wincing just long enough to show the man my wound on the side and then proceeded to do the same with my legs. He seemed to be giving the man a demanding look and the mountaineer man came to kneel at my side and begin examining me.

"What's your name little missy?"

"Angelina...Angelina Ramsey," I said in a voice that quaked.

"Well, Angelina, my name is Chicken Todd. Got the name while running cock fights down in El Paso. And it looks to me like you've got a broken rib or so and your legs are badly sprained."

I cried out as he pressed and prodded me, all the while Michael giving him a threatening look but the old man was undeterred and set about explaining that he would wrap my wounds with torn sheets and give me whiskey for the pain. He promised to provide lodging for the night but thought that I should have a professional look after me for proper healing and to avoid something nastier from overtaking me like an infection. The mere thought of me leaving for Haddonfield Memorial probably jarred Michael for he pushed the old man away and began unsheathing his knife.

"Hey! You want her to die? Now look you may not want her to go but you at least need to let her be treated. She's a child for Heaven's sake! Now take that damned knife and cut up the sheets I have in the back in long strips and bring them here. That sheet is clean and I got some iodine. I'll bind her up and we'll see how things are in the morning, ya'hear?" Chicken Todd bellowed, not knowing the danger he was in or rather not caring.

Michael turned his gaze towards me again and I gave him a pleading look, probably similar to the one that I gave him when the swat team surrounded us earlier. This time he ran his cold hand across my cheek before taking the knife and rising to his feet, careful to walk around the mattress and headed out the small back door toward where I supposed a clothing line stood. Leaving me in the presence of my host, I found Chicken Todd a nice character and he explained that he had a room in the back and that for the past year he'd let Michael sleep on a mattress on the floor. In exchange Michael would kill animals for their dinner and for the old man's taxidermy trade.

"How did you meet Michael?" I asked, my eyes and throat burning.

Chicken Todd scratched his wiry white hair and stood to go to where I suppose a kitchen was and I heard the sound of rushing water. He returned and knelt down at my side with a small tin cup and supported my head while I took a few cool sips. Fighting against my coughs but loving the taste of the fresh water, I consumed as much as possible while he explained that there is a small creek that flows past his cabin. One evening he found his dogs barking and when he went to search for the problem he found Michael washed up and weakly trying to pull himself out of the water. Michael thrashed at him with his knife before collapsing and had kept watch over his ever-silent friend ever since. They formed an unusual bond where Chicken Todd would talk and Michael would either stare, blink but all conversations were convey through his eyes. Todd provided his guest the space the complex man required and they'd lived comfortably. I now understood how Michael had evaded capture for all that time.

"Do you know his past?"I asked, reclining once again on the pillow.

"Yeah, I know who he is but he ain't killed me yet though I reckon someday he will. Make no difference to me either way," he said with some merit in his voice before setting the cup aside.

For a moment we sat quietly and listened to the sound of a blade slicing through cotton fabric and finally the familiar heavy footsteps.

Michael came to stand with several long strips thrown over his shoulder and his hand still clasping the knife; a part of me wondered if he regarded the knife the way others regard a blanket or a cell phone. He tossed the strips to Todd before resuming his place on the floor beside my mattress where I now knew was where he laid his head every night. A part of me wondered where he might reside that evening. Todd grumbled that I would need to take a few gulps of his whiskey, distilled just behind the cabin and pulled out a small bottle with a cork. He poured some of the contents into the tin cup and my weakness kept me from struggling as he assisted me once again. The harsh and bitter taste was nothing to the fiery path it burned down my chest, both warming and scorching its way before I thankfully met the pillow again. He set about binding up my legs, declaring that in the morning he would prepare a proper splint, but not while so many people were probably out looking for Michael in the woods. My jeans had been torn horribly from my fall and I could see the bruising and scratches that lined each leg. I let out a mournful cry as he pressed iodine into my flesh, both from the stinging sensation and for the thought of how I had prepared for the autumn ball that was to take place that day.

Now instead of sleeping and dreaming of my date and of the dress I'd wear and seeing my friends gather around to dance, I could only see my legs bloodied and now covered in cloth. In every scratch I saw the frozen looks of terror in the eyes of my friends, hearing their screams. Turning my head I saw that Michael was holding my hand with one hand while stroking my hair with the other. The monster that had shattered my childhood was now attempting to comfort me as this hermit nursed my wounds. The whiskey was potent and soon an uncontrollable bubble of laughter rose in my throat and while Todd continued his work, Michael stared at me as if I'd gone mad. Think of it, an escaped mental patient wondering if I were the one who was crazy.

"Y-You killed my friends! Y-You left them where I could find them and then brought me here to get help so I don't die!" I laughed hysterically for a moment or so before the tears that expelled from my eyes were combined with hard coughs. My rage was kindled because of what this bastard had done to the people I loved and held dear. None of it made sense.

"Why? Why didn't you kill me when you had the chance? Why can't you just do it now, huh? I want to be where my friends are! Let me go where they are!" I cried, tears blurring my vision and my voice cracking.

"Hush now child! You don't know what you're saying. Now Michael has a good reason for keeping you alive, that I have no doubt for he wouldn't be so intent on me wrapping ya like an old mummy." Todd soothed, tying the badges tighter around a deeper cut on my shin.

"Then why Michael? I don't know why you kept me when you killed all the others. We never did anything wrong! I-"

My words were cut short as Michael placed one cool fingertip to my lips and began to slowly trace across my mouth. This wasn't the actions of a deranged serial killer, but of a lover softly comforting the one he loves, as I'd seen it in movies. I pulled my head away and swallowed against the fresh bile that rose in my throat and whimpered anew. But he grabbed my chin and forced me to look at him and his eyes clouded until the blue had vanished into an abyss of black. He wanted me to comply, to never refuse his comfort and I had no other choice but to obey.


	4. Chapter 4

*Author's Note*

This chapter is longer as I get a handle on how to properly submit things and I hope you enjoy it. I'm going to try and do my best to update this story as often as I can so long as I have inspiration. So audience, besides the crickets, if you're out there please be my muses!

By this point Todd had finished with my legs and had moved to sit beside Michael, ready to examine my ribs. Michael didn't relinquish my hand but shifted slightly so that Todd could peel away the blanket and began to expose the blood drenched sweater I wore underneath. Michael's breathing kept me focused, though I noticed he breathed harder as Todd pulled out a pocket knife and cut away the remnants of my sweater. He murmured that he would have to wash the wound before applying the iodine and he would badge me tightly so to keep the rib in place. All I knew was that it hurt to breathe and a hunger tore through me even as my fear heightened as the soiled sweater was tossed aside. My bra, which had been white earlier when I first dawned it, was now a dried brown color from the blood that had seeped through. I choked on a sob as I thought of all the blood I had found on the floor, dripping from the ceiling where Billy's corpse hung down, half naked and his face—I screamed bloody murder at that moment and I did so again.

"_No!_ Don't fix me just let me bleed out!"

"Now hush! You ain't gonna die in _my house_ missy. I ain't having it and neither is Michael here!" Todd warned, pinning me with an ancient glare.

He left me there to fetch water and soap and anything else he'd need to clean me. Michael's renegade fingers traced across the wound, a few deep cuts that wouldn't kill me but spoke of deeper injuries. I didn't want to continue like this, why should I when nothing was left. Billy had been my date for the autumn ball and I had finally gathered the courage to ask him, after years of desiring him; I had always pictured myself looking into his eyes and finding all the warmth and love in the world there. But instead I found him dangled from the entrance way of Laurie's house, a puddle of blood forming beneath him as it drained from stab wounds all over his chest and back. I had ran and slid in his blood and landed in a thud against another one of my classmates, Annie. She was just as naked as he and I realized that I was never going to be his only. I got my wish however for I did get to look into his eyes, just not in the way I'd expected.

"_Michael, please_," I began calmly, watching him as he surveyed his handiwork with his fingers.

"I'm begging you to just take your knife and finish me here and now. You killed my friends, you probably killed my family and so there's no reason for you to be burdened with me."

He stared at me again in that wild and angry way before I seized his hand and clutched it with all the strength I had left.

"Michael, I need you to do this for me! Don't waste yours or Chicken Todd's time. Please!"

Michael roughly pulled his hand away from mine before reaching down and pulled me up from the mattress, despite the sharp pain that seared through me and held me just as Todd entered the room. He was securing me in place so that the old man could start the process of bathing me; I cried through the whole thing. Todd removed my bra but didn't give me any dirty looks but simply used a wash cloth and soap to wash away the dried blood, carefully maneuvered the wound and rinsed me clean as my captor held me. I assumed because Todd worked with animal carcasses this was child's play for him, for he worked with quick efficiency. He followed that with taking a towel and drying me off and then, after another long swallow of whiskey did he apply liberal amounts of iodine. I was dizzy from everything— the day's events, my sorrow and agony and if my head didn't feel so heavy I would have laughed again. The shock that Todd used Michael as a semi-nurse, with handling the strips while still holding me should have been amusing if it weren't so perplexing. I fell silent and watched as bandage after bandage was applied and another small one to the scratch on my arm before Todd gathered up his supplies.

"I reckon you're new companion ain't had anything to eat. Now I got some stew and some jerky but that's about it for right now. Michael don't eat much and I wasn't expecting company." He didn't wait for my reply just simply went to prepare my rations and put the supplies away.

Michael continued to hold me and I felt like a rag doll until he finally decided to place me back on the mattress. But, unpredictable as ever, he reached up and brushed a loose lock of hair away from my face, smoothing it back before letting his thumb trace along my cheek. Underneath his mask I could see his clear blue eyes bearing into mine until I swallowed hard against the sound of my heart beat pounding in my ears. Was this intimacy? No, Michael Myers was a cold-blooded killer, born to rampage and slaughter. Why was he touching my like this?

My thoughts were interrupted by another bout of coughing and I was further frightened by the concern lacing his eyes as he moved me so he could pat my back until I was able to draw in a deep breath. No, none of this made sense but I hadn't time to digest anything mentally once Todd returned with a chipped ceramic bowl for me.

"Now you eat up, you'll need your strength if you're going to heal the right way."

My slumber was racked with twisted images, of my friends' faces, contorted in the last moments of their lives and frozen with fear. Silent screams echoing from their gapping mouths and their eyes glazed with death and there was nothing I could do to stop their pain. I could see myself stumbling into that room upstairs in the Myers House, tripping over a loose floor board and landing onto the pile of my friends bodies, bludgeoned and slashed and—

A strong hand was gripping my shoulder and shaking me violently and only then did I hear the bloodcurdling scream tear in my ears, only to then register as my own. My eyes opened in a flash and I stared not into the faces of my deceased friends but into the blue orbs of Michael Myers. For a moment I forgot my disturbing dream and focused on the fact that his eyes were clear and actually beguiling, but a second later I realized that his eyes were laced with concern through his dirty worn mask. I looked around and took in where I was and allowed the recent events of the night to wash over me and found that the sun had risen and I was still asleep on the mattress on the floor. Apparently I had been screaming in my sleep and he found that distressing and decided to awaken me. I had no idea where Chicken Todd was but that didn't matter then because I was being silently examined by my captor who wanted to determine if my screams were the results of the fever. I didn't feel cool or hot, but my throat was incredibly dry and I told myself I should be wrapped in fear but the pain was slowly emerging from my battered limbs.

"_Water_," I gasped, my voice sounded strained and hoarse.

He gave a curt nod before rising from me and I heard his heavy footsteps carry him where there was a small sink and he quickly returned with water to quench my raging thirst. He helped me as Todd had the night before and for a moment I forgot that this man had caused the carnage that I'd seen just hours before. Then man that had done all of that had no soul, he simply couldn't have one but now he was comforting me, and as I drank I realized that the water was laced with that same whiskey Todd had given me. He was trying to help my pain as well as remove my thirst and I couldn't help but think how thoughtful that was, especially for a multiple murderer.

"Thank you," I murmured once the tin cup was empty, "I feel a lot better now."

He gave another nod before placing the cup aside and sat down directly beside mattress but never took his eyes off of me. I could tell from his hands and the flesh around his eyes that was visible through his mask that he was a white male. According to what Dr. Loomis had said, he was not that old, in fact in his twenties but I wondered what else was hidden behind the mask.

"Why did you bring me here? Why didn't you kill me like the others?" I asked in a small voice, feeling the diluted whiskey filling my stomach.

He gave no answer other than the movement in his eyes and the sound of his harsh breathing. Dr. Loomis had said that Michael didn't speak, though he'd heard him do so during his trial and during his initial incarceration in Smith's Grove, but he stopped soon afterwards. I had been told all of this because Loomis wanted to protect Laurie, but we had no idea that this was a serious threat. We lived in an idyllic world, in a sleepy town where nothing happened and we loved it that way. But for some reason this town had given birth to whatever Michael was and it made me want to continue to talk to him, even if it meant I'd have no verbal response.

"I think you understand me, Michael, I think you understand more than what you've let people think. And I want to understand why you've brought me here. Are you going to kill me?"

He blinked and then shook his head very slowly and I felt my chest tighten because I knew that I was having, on some basic level, a conversation with a catatonic madman, as Dr. Loomis had described him. He made the same gesture that he'd made before by brushing his hand through my hair, the tangled strands feeling disgusting because of the sweat, dirt and blood matted into it.

"Why did you decide to come back to Haddonfield? Why did you take me with you? Why did you come after me and Laurie?"

He blinked a few more times before turning his head and looking down at his filthy mechanic's uniform and opened it further at the collar to reach into a hidden pocket there, and slowly removed a crumpled piece of paper. He opened it and revealed an old picture of a boy with shoulder length blonde hair and a cheerful smile and I guessed him around ten years old while another girl, probably around the same age in pig tails sat beside them. Both of them were holding a baby in their arms, both looking proud and the girl was waving. I took the picture from his hands and examined it and instantly I recognize the girl and the baby she held. I swallowed hard because the girl was my older half-sister, Christie. From the myriad of baby pictures my parents had taken of us together I knew that the baby with dark curls was me. My eyes met Michael's and he had an expectant look in his eyes and I murmured my assumptions that the boy in the picture was him, and that the baby pictured in his arms was Laurie. He gave a nod and something sparkled in his eyes and I began to piece together everything with small 'yes and no' questions.

"You grew up in Haddonfield, just like my sister Christie did. She doesn't live there anymore though because after she went to college in Chicago, then she got married and moved to California. Since she's older than me, she never discussed anything about you but few people really talked about what happened to the Myers family that I know of, and rumors of a boogeyman just permeated over the years with the no one venturing inside the old house."

He had a sad look in his eyes, as if he were remembering what his life had been like but I was afraid that if he recalled too much it would lead to some violent behavior, so I resumed questioning him.

"So you must have known me as a baby then, that's why I don't remember you and neither did Laurie. You know it's not our fault that we were so young when you left. Were we close?" I asked, wondering how close a baby could be to a child.

Michael looked up and his eyes were wide and he nodded his head more vigorously. Even though I couldn't see his mouth, from the way his eyes squinted a little I could tell that he was smiling at me. Michael Myers smiling. I made a mental note that if I made it out of this shack alive and in one piece then I would tell Dr. Loomis or publish the findings for myself. The loss of blood and lack of a decent night of sleep only added to the dizziness I felt but I ignored that for the moment, because I was learning so much about the man who'd once apparently been apart of my life.

"When you first saw me, wherever that was, were you able to recognize me after all of these years?"

Another nod and what appeared to be mirth had risen to his eyes and I realized that he had probably followed us for hours maybe days before he first attacked. That odd feeling, that sense of foreboding and being watched was probably Michael stalking us, memorizing our daily routines and we had ignored it all. No one could warn us about what was to happen so we had no idea. We didn't even believe Dr. Loomis when he first came to Haddonfield raving of a Smith's Grove inmate heading our way.

Chicken Todd had gone out to find information about the police investigation and if anyone suspected Michael's whereabouts, which was highly unlikely. He had returned only to wash up that morning after he'd disposed of the car Michael had stolen in a lake about four miles away and he promised to bring more food and supplies. The relationship between the two men baffled me but I was sure that Michael probably still had some humanity left inside of him, and Chicken Todd had found a way to survive by appealing to it. Once the old hermit used up his usefulness I had little doubt that Michael would destroy him, and Todd knew that for certain. But with the other occupant of the shack gone, Michael was left in charge of me and he assisted me when I needed to relieve myself, he checked my bandages and gave me the rest of the stew that Todd had reheated. When I ran out of questions because I was simply too weak to continue speaking I had expected to fall asleep on the old mattress as before. I was not prepared for the coziness my questions had invoked in Michael.

I hadn't time to protest when he lifted me from the mattress long enough to shift himself onto it and laid down with me still in his arms. Again I was surprised by his gentleness and he pulled a fresh sheet up over us and tucked me in, probably something he remembered doing almost fifteen years before. A voice in my head screamed to push him away and to try and escape, but a breeze blew hard against the shack and threw the cracks in the wall and I instinctively snuggled against my captor for warmth. The action had obviously not gone unnoticed for he wrapped a secure arm around me and drew me in closer. Soon his rhythmic breathing became an impromptu lullaby and I felt my eyelids grow heavy. The last thing I saw was the soft and comforting gaze Michael projected before I finally fell asleep.


	5. Chapter 5

~*Author's Note*~

I tend to write this story on loose leaf before typing it, sort of my second chance at revision. Sometimes I write one scene before another and I've never written an action sequence so I'm working on that now. But I hope that you will enjoy this chapter and the ones following it as I intend to do some killing…or rather Michael does *insert awkward evil giggles here*

*****

The crash that burst through the shack was enough to jar both of us awake. A pained whimper was torn from my lips as I felt Michael sit straight up, slightly compressing the wound in my side and instantly his hands closed around his knife. My eyes were blurry and my head felt like a lead weight as I heard Chicken Todd's incessant and alarmed ramblings.

"_Michael! Get up now, das comin'!_ The police are heading this way, I heard over my radio that the state police been called and they're gonna search these woods."

I felt Michael place me back on the mattress while Todd was making large banging noises in the kitchen area. Even though I felt oddly at ease with napping beside Michael, I felt nauseous and beyond that I felt shivers and aches rack my body. When Todd finally stopped long enough to check on me, I felt his rough hand pressed against my head and immediately declared I had a high fever.

"We'll have to take her to get checked out, she could get worse really fast." He stated as calmly as he could.

Instantly a hand flew out to grasp Todd's weather-beaten jacket and yanked him across the mattress. Todd grabbed hold of Michael's hand with both of his own and demanded the monster release him. The rage that blackened Michael's eyes was beyond frightening and I feared that if he killed the hermit then no one would be able to protect me from his wrath.

"Michael, Haddonfield Memorial can take care of her. If you stay hidden and help her get there, they can patch her up and then you can steal her back when they're done. _But ya gotta act and soon!_"

The old man's words pierced the fog in Michael's mind and he turned and his eyes softened as I gave him a fearful look. Neither of us knew how sick I was and I think a part of him was feeling an inch of guilt, but when he turned back to Todd, that was swallowed up and replaced with something else. He released Chicken Todd with enough force that the old man fell backward and soon both men were in action. Todd brought forth some clothes he'd stolen from somewhere, another old jacket and a large fur hat and helped me into them. My movements were slow and sluggish and before long I was whispering my goodbyes to the old man who had sheltered me.

"Michael will take you through the woods and to the hospital. Last I heard on my police tracker radio they've found more bodies and are investigating areas further into town. That'll draw attention away from the woods for now but people are finding out what happened and people will start banding together. Try to stay warm and I might see you again."

Through chapped lips I kissed the man on his cheek before Michael hoisted me up into his arms and proceeded to carry me through the back door and into the open air. Somewhere on his person I know he sported his knife, and I felt the effects of my fever heightening as I wished the police didn't find Michael. Was that wrong? Yes, of course this man was a psychotic monster that killed innocent people with no regard for their age and having known hardly any of them beyond their having shared residence in Haddonfield. What perverse creature would kill and display people for sport, for whatever reason when none of them deserved such barbarism? I was just as twisted considering that I buried my face into his chest as he carried me and drifted off into a semi-relaxed sleep.

He carefully maneuvered over stumps and away from branches but never turned back. The sounds of frogs, birds and other fauna came sporadically, letting me know when I awake we were still in the woods. The crunch of leaves and rotting logs under his feet came with the rough and regular breathing that he expelled, and at times I would talk to him in whispers about whatever crossed my mind. He didn't respond always but would stare straight ahead but I knew he understood me.

"You know everyone was supposed to get ready for the dance tonight. I was going to wear this dark orange dress, you know like the color of autumn leaves. My mother and I had modified it from this dress we found at a thrift store,"

My voice trailed off and my eyes peaked from beneath the hat to see Michael finally looking at me. When I asked if he had killed my parents he'd shaken his head— much to my relief. No doubt that they had been alerted to my kidnapping and were worried beyond words for my safe return. But the fact that they were alive was a bright side to this whole ordeal when so many others were not.

When we'd finally emerged from the woods the sun had set, and we'd taken time to sit down and I ate some of the jerky Todd had packed for me. Michael merely watched me and remained vigilant of the area but never sat down until I nearly cried from the fever and aches wearing on my patience. A flash of something evil crossed his eyes before dissipating and he came to sit on a tree stomp beside me. Odd that I could think to order around a psychopath but the shivering was overwhelming me and I didn't care. My head still felt heavy and light at the same time and I desperately wished my parents were there to comfort me. I could recall only one time before when I felt so ill, and that was when I came down with a serious case of pneumonia at age seven. Never one to take stress at high levels well, I began to cry there in the cold woods, holding my side and wishing I had some of Chicken Todd's whiskey to dull the pain. When Michael withdrew his knife from his pocket I bit down on my lip to stifle my cries, but I was relieved when he slammed the blade into the log I sat upon and not into me.

Once again I found solace in his arms as he collected me and I curled up willingly, hoping to stay warm and steady the tremors. He didn't rock me nor did he say soothing words like my father would, but instead he looked down at me, never blinking. But the evil and vacant stare or the deep, seething rage wasn't present. I tried to remain alert but those eyes were undeniable and I could finally understand why Dr. Loomis had been obsessed with Michael for so many years. These were the eyes of a boy that had become engulfed in something far beyond my understanding, and I wondered if Michael could actually be reached after all. It was at that moment when a ridiculous notion occurred to me, to try something that I was afraid to do but hoped would be a test of progress. With the knife a safe distance from his reach and my eyes locked on his, I asked him permission.

"Michael, can I touch your mask?"

There was silence between us for what seemed liked minutes and I saw Michael blink, and I believed that he was truly contemplating the request. Loomis had told us that while in Smith's Grove he'd constructed hundreds of masks, to convey the emotions he could not feel apart from rage. But none were allowed to touch his masks and those who had dared were no resting in morgues and graves. What I was asking for was truly suicidal but I couldn't contain my curiosity.

With trembling fingers I slowly placed the tips to the rubbery texture of the mask, over the area that covered his cheek and gave the mask a simple caress before letting my hand fall. The gesture lasted only a few seconds but it was enough to tell me that I had more access to Michael Myers than anyone had in over fifteen years. I whispered my thanks before tucking my face into his chest. Whether or not he felt the effect of what had just transpired was unknown to me at that point, and soon we were resuming our trek to Haddonfield Memorial Hospital.

Autumn was truly upon us for when we decided it was safe to emerge from the woods surrounding the hospital, I assumed it was nearing five o'clock. The cold and the pain remained with me as did my silent companion who refused to let me test my legs until this point. Once settled on unsteady feet and my arms wrapped up in his, I took a few agonizing steps and winced as my bandaged legs felt my full weight on them. But Michael refused to relinquish his hold on me and when I tried to pull away, I felt him stiffen.

"I have to go in alone, Michael, they'll arrest you otherwise," I warned through clenched teeth.

From where we were standing I could see the tall edifice before us and I dreaded having to explain how I'd arrived there after all that has occurred.

"When I go in, they have to redo everything Chicken Todd did and maybe more. Could take hours in fact and I really want my parents to know I'm okay. I could use a shower, too now that I think about it."

Perspiration broke out across my chest, neck and face from exertion but the promise of real medical care was compelling. But I couldn't ignore the odd feeling of regret that I would soon have to part with the fugitive that had kidnapped me just the night before; the mere fact that he'd escorted me here was ludacris. Yet I was steadfast as I tried to convince him that he would have to let me struggle into the hospital lobby alone, under my own power.

"Michael do you honestly believe they won't have you arrested on the spot? You killed at least ten members of my graduating class for crying out loud! They're not going to be asking for your proof of insurance."

Only the blank, expressionless mask stared back at me and I gave a frustrated sigh. Why did I care if they captured him? After the lives he'd destroyed he deserved to be placed under the jail, but I couldn't dismiss what had transpired over the past twelve hours or more. He'd shared so much with me without uttering a single word and I desperately wanted to contact my sister, to let her know I was alive. Also I wanted to learn all I could about she remembered about Michael. Despite all the evil he'd wrought I couldn't shake the feeling that perhaps Michael could in fact be redeemed, that Loomis had approached his patient's rehabilitation from the wrong angle. He should have gone to the source of who Michael was before that night, not after.

"Look Michael, I'll be okay from here and if you leave now it'll be dark enough for you to get out of town,"

Slowly the eyes came to focus on mine but I couldn't gauge how he was feeling. The way he had probably masked his real emotions with the fascade of catatonia all those years and before I could question him, he was softly pushing me away from him and toward the hospital. I wanted to see any sign of guilt or regret but I saw nothing in his eyes to betray his thoughts. A sane person would have ran and flailed about while screaming for help, but I hesitated and stifled an unexpected sob.

"T-thank you, Michael. Tell…um….Chicken Todd thanks for me, too. Well, you know what I mean. Be safe."

Feeling like I was at the awkward end of an unusual first date rather than escaping the clutches of a killer, I turned and began to hobble toward the green lawns surrounding the hospital. Glancing over my shoulder and saw him there, his ghostly white mask seeming to float amongst the dark foliage. The pain in my legs and the pressure on my ribs was only intensified by the sting of renegade tears escaping down my cheeks. My throat constricted as I stumbled along, all the while hearing the familiar sounds of civilization. Though on some level I felt an immense amount of relief, it came from the promise of being reunited with my loved ones, of a warm bed. Yet a part of me, something perverted wanted to curl back on Chicken Todd's mattress and to hear Michael's raspy breath in my ear.

Probably mental distress, I thought, a trauma that would naturally come with having survived a night like the one prior. This was the only rational basis for it all. I pondered all of this until I gave one last look to the woods, but I saw nothing but swaying branches as if Michael had never been there at all. My head felt light and I could only hear a white noise in my ears, even as the automatic sliding door whooshed open. Time seemed to slow to a crawl as I saw two men dressed in light blue uniforms come rushing toward me.

A wheelchair appeared to my left as suddenly a flurry of activity erupted around me. Police officers were on walkie-talkies, telephones were grabbed and I felt large hands descend upon me. I realized that there were nurses and doctors surrounding me and my chair was being pushed directly into the emergency room. I saw two officers pulling a man out of my path and immediately recognized him as Loomis. He had a wild look in his eyes as the younger officers struggled to contain him.

"How? How did you survive?" I heard him shout.

I could only stare at him blankly, just as Michael would; how was it so easy to pretend to be unbalanced with silence and a stare?

"Loomis! Contain yourself, damn it! She's been through enough…we all had."

That voice drew my attention and there I saw Sheriff Brackett, or what was left of him. His face was pale and haggard, as if overnight the cheerful lawman had aged twenty years. Only then did I feel another wave of grief descend as I recalled the last time I had seen his daughter. Mouth agaped, eyes wide and glazed over, hands turned up as if to fight off her assailant. Fun-loving, head strong Annie was dead. Now I was staring at her father and yet I couldn't understand to the fullest why Michael had killed her. She had fought to the end and now our lives would never be the same. Shivers began to rack my body and more tears fell and my fever had nothing to do with it.

"_S-Sheriff, I-I'm so, so sorry, sir!"_

"No, Angie, it wasn't your fault. Don't ever blame yourself for this, you hear me? We'll catch that bastard, I promise you that,"

"Michael, where is he?" Loomis cut in, his face flustered a bright red.

"I-I don't know," I said in a small voice, "he let me go and this old woman patched me up but she never told me her name. She dropped me off here."

Internally I was feeling my stomach clench as I watched the myriad of faces digest what I had said, but perhaps the pathetic sight before them was convincing enough. Soon the energy in the lobby resumed as Loomis began raving that Michael Myers was still at large.

"He'll no doubt come after her again, Sheriff, we must act quickly." hollered the frantic psychiatrist.

The thought of capturing the cretin that had dared to kill his only child must have struck Sheriff Brackett and soon I was being pushed into the ER. But not before I heard Brackett shout into his walkie-talkie.

"Assemble the units from the nearby counties, we're going to _fucking annihilate_ Michael Myers, _tonight!_"


	6. Chapter 6

~*Author's Note*~

Sorry for the wait, I'm pursuing a career (not writing unfortunately) and stalking grad schools so please bear with me. I've never written anything without right killing so in my free time I have been watching lots of 80s horror movies (yes, that's researching). Hope you enjoyed this chapter and thanks to everyone that has left reviews. This chapter is dedicated to YolandaFriella, thank you for all of your encouragement!

*****

After hours of constant probing and scrutiny, I was permitted to rest. The bed assigned to me was a typical hospital cot that moved should I wish to have an incline or not, but it was far warmer than the one back in the shack. My injuries were extensive but not life-threatening and were promptly tended to and after a liberal dose of medicine to fight infection and painkillers, my fever had broke and I felt incredibly relaxed. Seeing my parents had caused the three of us to bawl in relief for what felt like hours instead of minutes. They had shooed away police officers and reporters hoping to gain information but the doctors demanded my solitude be respected. Ultimately I would need to write a report of all that had happened, but now was not the time.

"The whole state is probably buzzing about last night, it's no wonder people are interested." My father commented, lowering his newspaper.

My mother concurred as she resumed her knitting and I gave them a small smile because it seemed so natural for the two to slip into their normal routine, in spite of the circumstances or the setting change. True products of that small-town illusion I mused before trying to stifle a powerful yawn.

"Angie, sweetheart, are we keeping you up?"

"Probably are, it is awfully late and we should let you get some sleep." My father said, cutting off any response from me.

When I attempted to protest, he eyes me silently over his reading glasses and I fell quiet. My parents had had me later in life and they wouldn't abide any insolence, no matter my physical condition. They assured me that there was an armed marshal outside my door to ensure my protection and that security would alert them if there were any disturbances. All of this to preserve the remnants of Haddonfield's teenage population.

"Laurie…is Laurie okay?" I finally croaked as they rose to leave.

"Yes cupcake, she only suffered a fractured bone in her leg and some bruising, but she's recuperating well. She's a couple doors away from yours." My mother offered me a sad smile, similar to when we run out of blueberries for pancakes. I wondered then if they fully comprehended all that we'd experienced, and yet I should have known they would resort to dealing with a horrific tragedy by reverting into Ozzie and Harriet.

They kissed me over and over, one on either cheek until I thought my face would implode. They declared me their 'precious joy' and other mushy epithets and swore to be less than a phone call away, and promised no further harm would befall me. But they had never met Michael Myers.

"Christie is probably on the next flight back to Illinois now, we called her as soon as we heard you'd been kidnapped. I can't wait to have my babies together again,"

Before another bout of tears could render her incapable of leaving, my father ushered her away, with a comical roll of the eyes. As they left I heard my father speak to the marshal outside, thanking him for remaining vigilant. I was sure there were more armed guards with Laurie close by, but I wandered if that would really do us any good.

A heaviness was tugging at my limbs and at my eyelids, and when I looked out my small window, I saw how truly late it was, would he come here? There had been no word of his capture, of that I was sure and people were still paralyzed with fear. How could a person like Michael Myers ever come from a place like Haddonfield? Chicago had the seedy underbelly, the gang violence and corrupt officials; places like that spawned the psychotic and vicious. We were the harmless community that had more conflicts in public zoning than with any hard crime.

Yet before I could truly get the sleep that was calling me, I decided to reassure myself. The IV drip connected to my arm was portable for my convenience and I gradually pulled away my gray blanket and crisp sheets. Every fiber in my being was encompassed in a dull ache and once my feet finally touched the linoleum, my head felt like balloons were attached.

"He won't be there, what are you doing? I asked myself as I gripped and shuffled from one piece of furniture to the next. Every ache was a reminder of what I had endured and I felt a thud in my chest with each step, as my heart slammed against my ribs. I heard the rasp of my breathing and that fire I'd known before was enveloping in ribbons around my lungs. The room had looked so small, yet the floor felt endless before I came to grip the gray curtains.

My forehead met the glass, cool from the autumn air and after a few seconds of drawing in painful breaths. I let my weary eyes pull up to focus out over the hospital green and there, amongst the dark and haunted shadows, I saw his shape there. That singular white mask surfacing like a dorsal fin in the ocean, even from a distance I could see the blackened holes, the filthy mechanic's uniform. A cold sweat broke out across my body as I pushed away from the window; the world suddenly spinning anew. Had he seen me? Was that truly him? Was that eerie glint that must've imagined what I thought it was?

The oxygen retreated from the room as the flames in my stomach began to claw up my throat. I clutched the itchy curtains in a vain attempt to remain upright but nothing was steady. I looked out of the window one last time and saw the bloody moon lapsing into many. Glancing down I saw him step from the shadows and out into its orange glow, before the tiled floor came up to meet me.

"Angelina! Angelina!"

The cobwebs of my sleep were ripped as I felt someone shake me and I heard the desperation lacing the voice. My eyes cracked open and I groaned as I turned away from the nuisance.

"Jesus! Angelina, please wake up! Please!"

The voice alerted me and I turned again and saw teary eyes and a deeply agitated face of my best friend. I sat up as quick as I could and Laurie, despite her own injuries, helped me gain my feet. For a long time we simply embraced and cried into each other and when pulled apart, we still had not released hands.

"I heard you were here and I came to check on you and found you on the floor." Laurie explained, the concern unmistakable.

"Yeah, I went to get up and just got dizzy. But listen, I saw him Laurie. He was out there and he saw me, I'm sure of it and we've got to get help. Where are the guards?" I asked, looking directly into her eye.

Laurie visibly swallowed hard and I felt her nails dig into my hand.

"They're on break," she squeaked.

My stomach dropped beneath my feet and I looked to the window but refused to gaze out again. That would waste valuable time and we had to inform the authorities of who was approaching. But then I wasn't completely sure as to how long I had laid there on that cold floor, and Michael could have already gotten inside the hospital.

"How did you get here? Did he really let you go?" Laurie asked.

"He brought me here and he's coming back to get me and he'll probably want to take you, too. We've got to—"

"Hey, there you are! What are you two doing out of bed, huh? You know what'll happen to me if someone catches you two like this?"

We both turned to the door, startled by the presence of a middle-aged man with a hat, black jacket and brown uniform—a lone Haddonfield deputy was glaring at us with his hand on his belt. Without a second thought I launched into an explanation for what I had seen and how he must find his superiors and gather reinforcements. But the more I spoke, the more fantastical my tale sounded and the deputy, whose name we learned was Rourke, increasingly gave me a sour expression and was clearly annoyed with me for causing further stress.

"Look, you've been through a lot but if you honestly think I'm going to let you raise hell on my watch, you're out of your fucking mind."

"You don't get it!" Laurie interjected, "Michael can't change his course when he's decided what he wants. We'll all die if you don't do something."

Rourke made small twisting movements with his mouth, and then I saw the wad of snuff perched against his gums. With a steady eye on us, he retrieved my waste basket and spat into it, causing Laurie and I to cringe. He ordered her back to the room and warned her to not cause any more 'shenanigans', lest he deal with her in his own way. Laurie grimaced but complied, but not before throwing me a fearful look, silently wishing me safety as she limped past the inept officer. I worried for her as well because I had no idea of the caliber of deputy left to guard her. Once she was out of sight, the full weight of having this boorish man as company fell on me, and I felt awkward merely standing there; but I dared not clamor into my bed.

Slowly I moved to the window, moving my monitor with me and again took in the presence of the moon. His shape no longer stood amongst the trees and I didn't see him moving across the green, meaning he was inside.

"Michael has killed lots of people within a short period of time. Loomis had shot him to save Laurie but he couldn't kill him—"

"That old bastard missed," Rourke stated matter-of-factly. "He shakes like he's on crack and he can't aim for shit."

I sighed heavily, hoping that Rourke would understand the danger we were all in. My experience with Michael had told me that there was an unstoppable force keeping him from dying when someone else would have been fatally wounded. He wasn't a madman hell-bent on spilling blood, there was more underneath the mask yet neither Loomis nor I had discerned it, but I was closer. He wasn't a robot, he had thoughts and memories and feelings so there was still an inkling of humanity left. But I worried that that humanity made him more evil, more an unstoppable force. Unfortunately I couldn't even venture out to find him and ask him my theory because Sargeant Loser was physically in my way.

His brown eyes never strayed from me, like a bobcat preparing to pounce upon me. My simple hospital gown was nearly translucent and the back was held together by a couple straps, leaving little to the imagination. The way his blacked lips curled in a self-confident smile made my flesh crawl, and he seized my clipboard with all my medical information and scanned its contents quickly. His eyes violated me when his hands had not and I wanted to squeeze through the window just to be free of him. Whether he could understand all the jargon on the pages was irrelevant because he comprehended enough.

"Miss Ramsey is it? Yeah I heard from Sheriff Brackett about that maniac that killed his girl and took you off."

I tried to ignore the obvious tone in the deputy's voice that gave off red alerts of a veteran asshole. He'd been assigned to patrol the hall along with the other officers and remain vigilant of anyone, particularly men from sanitariums for the criminally insane. Yet this man was sauntering around my room, making unnecessary small talk while his buddies, he informed me, were playing cards in the waiting room. No warnings had been heeded and to place some distance between myself and Rourke I excused myself to the bathroom. Of course cowering in a small room, pretending to be constipated wasn't quite proactive, but this was better than dealing with a poor man's Barney Fife.

"But what I don't get is how you managed to get away from him and get all the way here without him getting you back."

"The old woman—"

"Yeah, right," he began, cutting me off as his footsteps drew closer to the door. "The woman, who you didn't know the name of, couldn't describe her home or car and yet no one else questions it. Probably because you weren't hurt or traumatized…"

*****


	7. Chapter 7

~*Author's Note*~

Okay, this is an ambitious chapter for me and I just wanted to get this out now so please be gentle—because Michael's won't (gasp)…

Remember positive feedback and reviews are always appreciated!

*****

His voice trailed off as he gripped the handle and I felt my breath hitch in my throat.

"Or maybe you were lying. How bout it, Miss Ramsey? Did he rough you up and then bandage you up or something? Maybe you weren't a _victim_ at all. I bet he just got a little carried away with some _BDSM shit_, huh?"

A tremor racked my body as it coursed up my spine, a natural reaction to the tone of his voice turning from mocking to predatory. The slightly overweight, partially bald deputy stood at approximately five feet and seven inches, but still had the advantage over my smaller frame. My mind reeled for a possible means of escape and yet as I sat on the cold linoleum beside the toilet, I had few options. Locking the door offered but so much time, and though I doubted he could push it open, I couldn't underestimate the physical strength of a pervert. He had rattled the handle and the grunt he gave easily indicated a heightened frustration, and I had nothing but a hard plastic bedpan to act as a weapon. The state had idiotically outfitted this moron with a taser, handcuffs, mass and a gun and he had no intention of serving and protecting.

"You've been in there for a while now, do you need me to help? I could pull your panties up for you, though I'm sure after being _loosened up by Michael Myers_…you'd rather keep them down."

"Leave me alone, please. I promise I won't tell the Sheriff about this but I just want to be left alone." I pleaded, hoping a nymphomaniac could digest reason.

For a moment he didn't answer and I assumed he was actually contemplating my words, until I heard the sound of squeaky wheels. The distinct sound of a bucket being pushed into my room was beyond welcome and Deputy Pedophile gave a heavy sigh. Momentarily his pursuit was over because a janitor had arrived to probably mop the floor.

"Go on ahead and do what you need to do, this little slut is nothing but a god-damn cock tease anyway. She's used to fucking lunatics and shit—"

As soon as I breathed the sweet air of relief, I inhaled something else—something heady and unmistakable. My eyes rolled for a second and my heartbeat suddenly began to race. The scent had wrapped its invisible tentacles around me and I saw flashes of my night in the shack. The way he'd held me that night before while I slept had not resembled how an evil beast behaved, instead I felt comforted and warm. The close proximity of his body next to mine had given me access to his unique scent. Dirt, blood, rage and another far more sinister odor. Now it was seeping beneath the door and that could only mean…

"_What the fuck? No, no let go of me, let go of me! You freak!_"

I lurched at the door and unlocked it and threw it open and from the shadowy interior of the hospital room I saw a tall imposing figure bending the deputy over the rail of the bed, while the latter struggled to reach his belt. A large yellow custodial bucket was never their legs, and the assailant gripped the long mop handle and pulled it free; this gave Rourke a brief window to grasp the first thing he could, a taser and he whirled around jammed it into his opponent's chest.

Michael was only momentarily jilted, but he recovered fast enough to seize the fabric of the deputy's pants. Still the taser sent barrages of electricity through Michael's enormous torso, but this only sought to further anger the beast within. His grip having never faulting, he tore away the taser and wordlessly pressed the volts into the man's neck, paralyzing his vocal cords until no sound emerged. The only thing heard was the clattering the weapon made as it dropped to the floor. Agony laced the pervert's eyes and preoccupied him as Michael truly gained the upper hand. Stunned, I watched silently as the aggressive and arrogant bastard was reduced to the helpless victim. Michael ripped away the deputy's brown pants and underwear, which were equally brown from terror, and left the pathetic man prostrate on the bed gasping for air and tears coursing down. I slowly moved from the bathroom door and yet remained pressed against the wall with my monitor, and prayed Michael's anger would be quenched now. But all thoughts of that were shattered as he picked up the mop.

"Michael, what are you doing?" I asked, not quite recognizing my own voice.

Before I could form the words to ask again I saw the deputy again to thrash about in pain. From the angle where I stood I saw more of Michael and gradually less of the mop. The deputy tried to scream but Michael had already stifled them so no one would hear how rough he truly could be. Hot acidic bile rose in my throat and I leapt to the bedpan until my esophagus burned and my nose was red. Mere minutes passed but an eternity stretched passed before the bed stopped moving. I didn't move from my place over the bedpan until I felt a cold hand touch my bare back, but I didn't flinch at all. I grabbed some toilet paper and wiped my mouth and dried my tears before turning to gaze at his mask.

"Is he dead?"

A slow nod was all the answer needed and when I stood, I could see where the mop had been lodged. Under different circumstances the scene would have appeared comical, fitting even but this wasn't a prank or a movie special effect.

"I knew you'd come back for me, I saw you down there watching. That deputy wouldn't warn the others that you were coming. I don't know why but I never told them about Chicken Todd or your whereabouts. I don't understand why I'm protecting you,"

Another cold gnarled hand brushed across my cheek to cup it and his fingertips were as rough and callused as the rest of his arm. The unusual raised purple veins amid old scars were unlike anything I'd ever seen but I wasn't repelled by them. I smiled shyly and felt the adrenaline that had spiked in me crash down and my weariness must have been apparent. I washed him pull the bleeding corpse from the edge of the bed and unceremoniously stuffed the offending officer into the closet in the corner with his torn clothes. There were a few sanguine smears on the blanket but I ignored them once I was deposited gently on the mattress, with great attention not to disturb my monitors. His eyes reflected something peaceful, which was drastically different from the usual blind thirst of destruction.

"I've heard what Loomis and everyone else has had to say about you, but I wish you could tell me the truth. Why are we drawn to one another like this? Is it merely because you knew me as a toddler?"

His head shook once and I was afraid this would be become a game of twenty questions.

"You want to keep me alive, don't you? You heard what that man was saying and you knew what he wanted to do to me but you stopped him. Something is telling me that you care about what happens to me and that's scary."

A large yawn momentarily overwhelmed me and when I attempted to speak again a look from behind his mask, through those remarkable eyes halted my words. He rose from my side and gradually moved to the bathroom and closed the door behind him, bewildering me until I heard a soft knock at the door. A young nurse entered and graced me with a smile before explaining that she would need to replace my IV bag and gave me a small paper cup and a couple painkillers. Though exhausted I couldn't help but feel anxious with the real and possible threat of Michael using his knife. At no point did the nurse know of the present danger that bided his time near the toilet, and I tried to keep from looking toward the bathroom door.

"You're doing fine, I'm glad. Everyone was worried for you but all is well now. Are you hungry or thirsty?" When I replied no, she again flashed a smile and proceeded to leave. "I'll check on you in about three or four hours but remember to use the call button in case you need anything. And I'll also find that silly janitor and have him move his bucket. He's always forgetful. While I'm at it I'll find that damn deputy. I swear the police in this town are so incompetent, and they think and act like a badge makes them God's gift to women."

Undoubtedly Michael had probably murdered that hospital employee, but I was relieved that she didn't notice the blood stains. I watched the woman depart, unharmed as the pain medication quickly dissolved in my stomach and when Michael returned to the bed, I was floating.

"Michael, stay with me for a while until I fall asleep. For some reason I feel better knowing where you are and having you close by."

Perhaps the years as a patient and inmate of a psychological institution had improved his bedside manner, but he didn't leave my side. I melted into the small reassuring caresses he trailed across my cheek, making me feel more at ease than when my parents had been there. So when the door opened I had a lazy smirk on my face but that quickly vanished at the sight of two large brown eyes widen in sheer terror. I inhaled sharply and the intruder did so simultaneously, but she released hers in the most bloodcurdling scream that I had ever heard. It sent a tremor up my spine and I gripped Michael's hand to steady myself.

"_Laurie…I can explain_,"

*****


	8. Chapter 8

~*Author's Note*~

Sorry I've not updated in a few days but I live on the east coast and my power was out but that did give me a chance to write, even if it was by the light of candles and flashlights. I'm going away on a cruise for my birthday this week so I won't be updating for a while. Wish me safe traveling mercies as I head out to sea with my boyfriend, who is not Michael Myers unfortunately. I want to thank everyone that has reviewed, favored or bookmarked my story it truly means a lot to have your support. I'd also like to thank PreciousRaymond for updating the story 'Love Denied' I always get excited when I see there's a new chapter and I suggest everyone read it. Please tell me what you think because I'm still really new at writing killing scenes. See you when I get back! Bon Voyage!

*****

Sheer hysterics was what we were entering into as I chased after, screaming at her to understand as she fled in terror.

"You need to get some help, Ang, he's warped your mind. He was about to rape you and he'll get us both."

"No, listen to me he's not evil, he's just a victim who is lashing out,"

Laurie looked over her shoulder and saw her brother standing silently at the opposite end of the corridor. This was the shape that had murdered our loved ones and now she was hearing but not really hearing me because my words didn't make sense after what she'd lived through. I tried to elaborate on how he'd gotten me medical care and how his aim was to recapture what he had lost all those years ago. He was still her blood and if she could see through the mask as I had then she would see the big brother that had never stopped loving her.

"In ways he is still the lonely ten-year old who lost everything trying to remove all the evil from his life and protect his baby sister." I said, clutching her shoulders to try to contain her.

Again she looked to the shape and tried to square my words but her eyes held a frantic light in them. Like a frightened rabbit preparing to bolt at the first shadow of a threat is what I likened it to. I told her about how he'd known me as a toddler as well and I was safe from his wrath because I had made no moves to injure him. We were born here but Laurie and I shared the last remnants of his heart.

"Angie, we have to get you help he's done something to make you believe all of this shit and none of it is true." Laurie retorted as sweat and tears mingled on her pale face.

She held my arms and continued to inch toward the swinging double doors. The deputies were on the other side in a waiting room, utterly oblivious to who was in the tiny hospital building. If she broke away from me then she would cause a barrage of gun smoke and bullets to come flying at Michael. But Laurie was adamant about escaping and she was taller and stronger than I and her determination to drag me with her was met with a pathetic resistance. Michael merely watched as two teenagers shouted and cried, standing in his usual mute way and I wished he could tell her his feelings. Whether it made a difference I wasn't sure but it would make her stop pulling on my sore arm.

"Look, he has a picture of all of us together. You, me, him and Christie before all that horrible stuff happened. He showed it to me and it's the same one Dr. Loomis had but the part with me and Christie was torn off. He has the original and he never forgot us. Please believe me,"

"I've lost everything, Angie, I won't let him take you again."

Laurie tore away from me and rushed passed the doors, intent on alerting the officers. I called after her and yet all I heard were her feet slapping the tile floor as she dashed away. Defeated, I turned and found Michael directly in front of me and the softness in his eyes brought tears to my own. He wasn't blaming me and I choked back a sob when he collected me into his arms, but I had no idea as to when the deputies would arrive. I had tried to convince my friend of a truth that was too fantastical to sound logical, yet still the fact that he'd not attacked us when he'd had ample time to do so would prove my point, or at least I thought. As he proceeded to walk back toward my room I understood that he had thought to tuck me away for safe keeping, because when those half-witted, trigger-happy buffoons arrived they were libel to shoot anything and anyone.

I decided not to fight him on this and I whispered my apologies that I had no affect on changing Laurie's mind. Michael's response was to pull me up against him until he put his mask against my face in quiet assurance; there was something comforting in having the truth on my side. I figured this was how all star-crossed lovers feel when others get wind of their taboo relationships.

"Stop! Put her down now!"

Michael didn't turn around but I looked over his broad shoulder and saw the nurse that had attended me earlier. The nurse should have known that her duty to protect her patients was futile against the infamous Michael Myers but she stood as if prepared to pounce on him. Her face was drawn back in a snarl and for a split second I was afraid before Michael shifted me in his arms so that he held me with just one. He was ready to engage this impulsive woman if she indeed decided to make a move. Already he was resolute in killing her because he had never had qualms about killing anyone who stood in his way.

"_You insufferable murderous bastard_, put her down now!"

"Don't provoke him, he'll just torture you," I pleaded.

Slowly he lowered me to my feet and though I continued to clutch at his uniform he easily brushed me aside and rotated toward the foolish woman. I had made no move to stop him from killing the asshole now cooling in the closet of my hospital room because he had acted like a perverted pig. But this woman looked like she was fresh from nursing school and only a few years older than I, and she had never done me harm. I called out for her to run but he had thrown an arm out and grabbed the collar of her white uniform and when her screams began he merely tossed just enough to when she came down, he gripped her around her throat. The flesh was bruising and the nasally wheeze that slipped from her lips as her eyes bulged made me want to vomit. The nurse's white shoes fell from her feet as she kicked and flailed to get free.

Not thinking I began pulling at him, at his arm to try and make him release her but his physical strength dwarfed mine. Without even looking at me he pushed me aside without enough force that I thumped against the wall but I wasn't hurt. I felt like a child who had interrupted her father while at work, as if I were being chastised and sent to my room until he finished.

"Michael, stop!" I screeched as I clutched the edge of the wall. "Please leave her alone, she's harmless and—"

My voice vanished as I saw the frightened nurse produce a syringe from her front pocket. I had gained his attention and for a second I could tell he understood my words, but as the needle sunk into the soft flesh of his neck, I was all but forgotten. The nurse gave a triumphant cry, surely having found his jugular and when he dropped her and stumbled away from her, she began to flee down the hallway, her screams echoing behind her. Michael flinched in shock before pulling the offending object out and crushed the glass in his hand. Blood spurted from the tiny puncture wound and began to soak one shoulder but he gave no indication of pain.

"Oh, God!" I heard myself say as I rushed toward him, finding blood draining at an alarming rate.

I grasped his hand, the one not firmly holding the kitchen knife and initially he jerked until he saw me. His breathing sounded labored as usual and his eyes weren't visible in the dimly lit corridor, to the point where only the dirty white holes of the eyes were pronounced. There was no telling how far that nurse may have gotten and I prayed she'd left hospital altogether. I was stirred from my thoughts when Michael ripped away from me and slowly began to head in the same direction that the woman had gone.

Immediately I was at Michael's side, ignoring the increasing pain and tried to convince him to leave the hospital staff alone. My tongue felt thick in my mouth and tears were burning the edges of my eyes, only further exasperating my dehydration. But his focus was on exacting revenge on Haddonfield, one person at a time and this nurse, who acted in self-preservation was no his next target. The medication I'd relied on to still the pain was quickly wearing off and the sensation in my ribs was becoming unbearable now, and was robbing me of oxygen. However I knew my aches would be nothing compared to hers once Michael discovered her.

"I know you're blinded by hate but you have to stop for me, I can't keep this up. Please stop hurting us! We didn't make Judith a whore, we didn't force you to kill…"

My cries didn't penetrate the black fog around his head and I crashed into a wall to support myself, the last remnants of my strength evaporating and my feet were numbing beneath me. My breaths came out haggard and an unexpected cough produced tiny droplets of blood; I couldn't stop him. A tortured sob was torn from me and I finally crumbled to the floor, my vision blurring and my head spinning. This was happening all too fast!

"M-Michael, just stop…no more death…no more,"

A scream that froze my blood resounded through the quiet hallway, followed by a desperate plea for mercy. Everything in me demanded I do something but my body refused to comply. I heard the sound of a slamming door and shattering glass; perhaps she was a Christian, or thought to be one then as she cried out to God to save her, for anyone to save her. She must have hidden in a room or storage closet instead of going for help and now he was stalking her back down the hall, watching with the most exquisite fascination as she crawled toward me. Blood dripped and smeared and trailed as she moved on cut hands and knees, glass jutting out from open lacerations. He'd thrown her through the glass of a door.

"Dear God somebody help me!"

A final surge of adrenaline pushed me to propel my pitiful form upward; I had two options, to either go to her in a weak attempt to thwart Michael or rush down the hall to find those deputies. She had rushed to the left down the hall perpendicular to the one that led to the waiting rooms and I didn't have the strength or time to search for help. Perhaps to comfort her, or maybe to project my favor on to her in a last ditch effort to save her life, I took a step forward on a shaking foot only to crumple forward. I pulled myself with my arms across the floor and absorbed her screams as he ran his blade in quick strokes across her back. The flesh and fabric gave easily and the terror and fresh pain that permeated in her contorted face and reddened blue eyes burned into me.

She screamed incessantly but continued to crawl and finally after what felt like hours, I grasped her hand. There we locked eyes and she opened her mouth to ask for help, only to fall abruptly silent, her face and body collapsing all at once. Shaking my head, I looked up and saw the knife sunken into her back, until only the handle could be seen. I was overwhelmed by tremors and when I finally gazed at the monster, his masked head was cocked to the side as if to admire his gruesome handiwork. For a few moments only the twin sounds of our breathing could be heard while a pool of crimson began to puddle around the body. Only then did I realize that I was still holding the woman's hand and I saw her name tag. Betsy Wallace. Suppressing the urge to cry I used my free hand to gently close her eyes. The corpse jerked a little until the blade was pulled out but was bathed in blood, and finally the knife disappeared into his pocket. I heard his footsteps as he rounded what was once a young woman and his hand closed around the arm that wasn't hurt. That urge to cry dissipated as he pulled me into his arms, cradling me as he silently walked down the hall—toward the exit.

*****


	9. Chapter 9

**~*Author's Note*~**

**Forgive the long wait in between updates I had hard time trying to piece together more. Sometimes I just get the idea for scenes and then I have to figure out how to stitch them together into a coherent storyline. I'm also working on my newest story 'The Ghosts in the Fog' and I hope you all have a chance to check it out. I'm moving into more emotional territory with Michael and Angelina where both are conflicted but inseparable. Not in this chapter but in an upcoming one I promise a steamy love scene…so stay tuned! Please send reviews that put a fire underneath me *hint hint***

*****

I had little doubt that Sheriff Brackett was having a full on conniption after finding the havoc Michael had wrought under the very noses of his useless deputies. If Michael had not dispatched the entire medical staff working the night shift I prayed he would receive proper care. But then they would have discovered the nurse and the officer I had seen him kill and any other victims Michael had murdered with at least twenty armed men mere feet from the escaped convict they were trying to capture. A part of me would have felt the situation laughable if I were not being carried in their target's arms across the misty grounds of Evergreen Memorial Cemetery. Despite my insistence that I was able to walk he had ignored me and we continued down the row of graves in silence. What fascinated me was how Michael was capable of roaming about in the most exposed locations, in clear sight yet evade detection so easily. Truly he moved at a snail's pace, even when in pursuit of victims but people were rarely able to capture him.

This was the equivalent of a stroll down a white sandy beach at sunset for us, the true odd couple. The mists would disperse as his eyes moved through them and the waning moon revealed tombstones of varied shapes and sizes. Usually I avoided this place because of how sad one feels when stepping inside the iron gates. Somewhere my grandparents were buried here and my parents forced me to visit during Memorial Day weekends; otherwise I had no desire to make trips to the neighborhood of the dead. I pressed my face deeper into his shoulder as we moved east and tried not to look at the freshly dug graves that we passed. The relatives of my friends would probably be just starting to arrange the details of the funerals and burials, and my heart lurched to think of my graduation without them and could almost picture having the ceremony in the middle of the graveyard so we could finish high school together as we'd always planned. Beyond that I had no idea if I would survive to see June, let alone next week.

I napped as he continued on and he only shifted me in his arms when he had reached his intended location. I stared up at the withered edifice and thought of how that first night had transformed everything for Haddonfield. Though a chill raced up my spine I didn't feel the paralyzing fear that I'd encountered when I first found myself within its walls. This was our homecoming, this was we're we belonged and though I longed to see my own family and be amongst familiar surroundings there was no way life would be the same. How could I resume the idyllic childhood Michael had practically destroyed when his deeds would remain with me every day. No, I would remain here for as long as Michael wished, there simply was no other option.

He settled me on my feet and pushed in the bolted back door and unceremoniously walked inside, knowing I would follow. Once secured inside I was able to limp about what appeared to have been the kitchen. Beyond that was the living room and the stairs, though there was police tape blocking the entrance to the hallway. Averting my gaze from the chalk marks on the floor boards, where two bodies had been found. After several deep breaths in a vain attempt to keep my head clear and my stomach from leaping into my throat I found him watching me. The moonlight lit enough of the house that his mask seemed to glow eerily and I felt a tinge of fear as I had felt a few days before, when I through I would end up with chalk around my corpse.

"Goes great with the décor," I muttered, a smile forming and then failing to rise to my face.

My eyes dropped to my socks while he ripped the tape away and proceeded up the rickety staircase. Like a blind disciple I followed him with careful steps in case a board snapped beneath me and I fall—and we had already seen where that could lead. Because this was his home he knew every nook and cranny and as if this was a bizarre tour for a real estate agent, I made notes of different points in the house. The bathroom was across the hall from the nursery where Laurie had spent her first year. Down the hall were the linen closet and Judith's old room and to the left his own. Yet we bypassed this and I nearly ran into his back when he stopped before the worn door that suddenly fascinated him. The hinges, rusted with age and loosely clinging to the frame, whined when he pushed the door open to reveal what I expected. A large bed with a decaying metal frame and I feared how long ago the lacey coverlet had been washed. As he stepped over the threshold I was able to gain a better vantage but I didn't enter. Something internally told me to have a greater reverence for this particular room.

There were dusty faded pictures of floral scenes on the walls and a plaque with the mantra, 'God bless this home' hanging from a string and nail beside the boarded up window. Swallowing hard I turned to see a walk-in closet where the vented sliding doors had crumpled to one side. Despite little to no evidence available I quickly deduced that this was where he ran as a child when a nightmare frightened him. There were probably memories of Mother's Day breakfasts in bed, pillow fights and other cherished moments that only he recalled. Refusing to believe Michael was a mindless killing machine devoid of emotion, I tried to fathom how much of a sense of loss and loneliness he must have felt.

"This was your parents' room."

I merely said it so that he would remember I was still present, for I was sure he was drowning in his thoughts, as any man would.

"I know we're here to hide out but it means a lot to me that you brought me here. A few days ago I wouldn't think so but I think it's an honor now."

Michael had been standing deathly still in front of the bed but he seemed to be looking through it, to another time. I approached him and slipped my hand into his and gave it a squeeze to reassure him that he would not have to face his demons alone anymore. Having made more progress than a bevy of psychiatrists I looked up at him and saw sad blue eyes staring back. Releasing his hand I shuffled over to the bed and sat down on the iron spring mattress and heard its age crying out. The sheets surprisingly had a minimum of dust or dirt clinging to them, really having actually appearing to be recently used. I turned to Michael and then back to the comforter and understood how he had hidden so easily.

"Always in the most obvious place," I murmured with humor. "Michael you must enjoy this cat and mouse game you play and I can't fault you for testing Haddonfield's finest. I'm shocked Loomis doesn't state out this place in the hopes you'll come back here."

I was learning so many of his secrets and yet he was still unattainable because he physically hid from me. His face and his voice were not so simple to observe, the last barrier to unraveling who the real Michael Myers was. By no means would that make him less horrifying because if he, at his staggering height and wielding a knife, chased after me I would still flee for my life. I had already told him that what was most frightening about him was how he was spawned from the innocent past World War II suburbia where nothing went wrong. Alarmingly this nightmare was sitting down beside me, towering over me with his hands on his knees.

The mood was changing and yet he acted so differently to make me feel so and I decided that I should utilize the bed as he offered. Indeed there were crumbs of dirt from wear he'd laid and I tried to think of how this was far better than sleeping on the streets. I had just begun to pull the covers over my legs when he suddenly gripped them, stilling my hands; his masked head slowly turned toward me and for a second apprehension struck me. The last thing I wanted was to desecrate his deceased parents' furniture.

"Michael, I—"

He moved with the stealth of a cat but there was no arrogance or bravado in his movements as he pushed me gently against the gathering of pillows behind me. The sheets were now out of my hands and as I stared at him from over my knees I realized how much of a compromising position I was in, with my legs partially opened. My ruined hospital gown provided no modesty and his right hand began its probing at a pace that he set as his fingertips danced up my shin, following an inevitable line further along my leg.

The tingling sensation that played along my inner thighs caused my stomach to clench, a natural reaction to having him so close. I could almost imagine the feel of his breath there instead of the worn rubber material but the mask had become an indelible part of him. Though I longed to see his face a part of me couldn't picture Michael without it but I had seen the picture with a smiling handsome boy, and Laurie was always considered lovely. Undoubtedly he had grown into an impressive man with a masculine form that was almost Herculean and his eyes enchanted me whenever I gazed into them. But could that be possible? To have escaped psychotic killer to have the face and physique that could grace any magazine? The awkwardness of having him examining the tender bruise on my left thigh was replaced with a new one. Closing my eyes and swallowed hard, I forced the words from my tongue and prayed they'd not be my last.

"Michael, please let me see your face."

The constant heavy breathing did not change and when I thought to feel the pure wrath only Haddonfield's finest killer could serve, there was nothing. I let one eye open and then the other and Michael was staring at me as if my request was typical. Lying in his mother's bed with his hands on my thighs and his hidden face inches from my womanhood, he seemed to be undaunted.

"The mask isn't your true face. There is a real man behind it and there is no reason to hide it from me. I mean eventually everyone will know that I am no victim and soon Loomis and Sheriff Brackett will discover our hideout." I paused to see if perhaps my words were registering and all I found were a few blinks.

"Before they lock me away for helping you, for being with you as an accomplice and call me insane for loving you…"

The breathing stopped. Before I could comprehend what I had said or recall what I had said, he pulled away from me. In one fluid motion he was on his feet and stalking from the room. Fresh tears welled up in my eyes and I hadn't any idea of how to explain. Had I just made such a declaration? I had hoped to persuade him to let me see his face for a few seconds, which would help me sleep when the jail door slammed shut on me. What had pushed me to admit I had any feelings at all was beyond me and now his footsteps sounded distant. He was leaving the house and he was probably stressed which normally meant someone was going to die.

*****

_My dreams were haunted and disturbed but I didn't want to awake from them, not when I saw my dearly departed friends and classmates. We were all gathered in the school gym, surrounded by lights and decorations as we danced until our feet felt numb. Billy never let me go for a second, even when blood began to seep from his mouth, from the wound across his neck. We were all so happy to be together and my dress looked so lovely, in spite of the puddles of blood soaking up the hem. We swayed together in each other's arms and I couldn't stifle the smile on my face as Billy gurgled on his own blood as he tried to tell me he loved me. We swayed more but I had to do so to keep him upright, even as others saw their wounds exposed and dropped to the floor. Until only we were left standing amongst the heaps of corpses of our loved ones and the deathly paleness that illuminated Billy's cheeks didn't faze me because I had him, and that made this autumn ball the best I've ever attended. _

_ "Billy, tell me again that you love me, I've waited years to hear you say it," I implored as I gazed into his glazed over eyes._

_ Before he could form the words I felt a thrust of his body against mine, leaving me to think I had been stabbed. Billy made no expression for he'd stopped breathing long before that and the blade didn't trouble him. The tip had not pierced me though it shone through the perfectly pressed tuxedo that Billy wore until it disappeared again. He slipped from my arms and collapsed to the floor and landed directly beside Annie; still even in death I was no match for her because now that they were both deceased she would still have more in common with him than me._

_ But my eyes were diverted from the massacre around me and saw Michael standing in front of me with his bloody knife firmly in his grasp. There, in a blood dress and standing in entrails, I let him take my waist and pull me closer to him and a soft tune wafted through the gym. I leant into him as we danced about, avoiding large chunks of meat lying about and he made me feel warm and protected, even when he sunk the blade in…_

*****

Instantly I was awake and felt a cold sweat break across me even as my throat spat sand. For a moment my senses were in complete disarray and I whimpered aloud until I was brutally pulled away from the mattress and forced against something living and hard. I blinked several times before my eyes could focus and then I saw Michael's eyes imprinted on my face and spelled out how concerned I was. Yet I felt no new pains especially none in my back and that was a relief. I quickly apologized for my night terrors and then asked to be set down, to which he hesitated.

Once firmly on my feet I pulled away from him and murmured that I was simply tired and overexcited after all that had happened. We had stolen away into the night and made the trek back to his infamous childhood home and there, surrounded by small reminders of his past she felt incredibly homesick as any teenage girl would.

"You must know what it's like to wish you had your mother there to comfort you when you feel lost and alone. I wanted to simply have a moment of tenderness with you and you left me so fast and that hurt. But obviously men tend to vanish whenever I show them any affection. Normally my mother would make some tea and help calm my nerves after another disappointment. Instead I get left in an old abandoned house, on a dead couple's bed and completely rejected by an escaped mute murderer. Annie always acted like she didn't care and that drew the boys but I couldn't conceal my feelings quite so easily."

Still wearing my soiled bandages and tattered gown, I wished I was wearing anything else in this drafty pile of rubble. At home I'd wear a bathrobe over my pajamas and felt far more at ease, but that was before I learned what's really possible even the quietest of towns. The town's twentieth century dream had been shattered in this house and my resentment against its only occupant was growing.

As I withdrew into my thoughts and resumed my place on the bed, I felt his eyes on me. Only then did I see a gift bag sitting next to the door and saw the shopkeeper's name printed across the front. Carlyle's was an antique store in downtown Haddonfield and its owner, Larry Carlyle was an ornery old man that refused to sell to people my age. Though I hadn't a bad reputation and had no desire to steal he didn't are for teenagers and had actually yelled at me the day before Halloween for standing in front of his display window. He refused to sell me a beautiful Mardi Gras mask that was only twenty dollars, claiming that a 'punk kid' couldn't handle anything nice without defacing it. Annie had flicked him her middle finger while Laurie argued that what he was doing was age discrimination.

Michael took the medium size red and white bad, stuffed with tissue paper and placed it on my lap. Never one to turn away from a present, I dove into the bad and withdrew the mask I had coveted. Long black feathers framed the gold and orange sequin mask and tied together with silky black ribbons. The mask could hide most of my face and a grin pierced my face as I held it up so Michael could see the full effect. I tied the ribbons behind my head and secured it in place before leaping over the broken oval looking glass. My previous feelings were swallowed up by an exuberance as I pranced around in my mask. His eyes, with the lower lid raised to make him squint a little, told me that he was smiling his approval.

"This is amazing how did you know that I wanted this mask?"

Of course then the full reality surfaced and I knew exactly how he'd known.

"Back when you were following us, you saw how I tried to buy it didn't you? You saw how Mr. Carlyle wouldn't sell it to me and you stole the mask?" He offered me a slow nod and I wasn't sure how I felt about his answer but my anger had dissolved to a distant memory.

"You probably killed him or at least scared him to the point that he'll remember the customer is always right. But tell me why'd you leave the way you did. Was it because of what I said?"

_Yes._

"Did I offend you or anger you?"

_No._

"I guess it's safe to assume that the mask is a love taken, a symbol that you understand all too well. I want to thank you and I really love this mask but I'm not going to hide anymore that I love you. Is that okay?"

He took a step closer to me and over masked faces was frozen on each other as he ran his fingers over the details of mine. Just to touch the bottom of his I had to stand on tip-toe but it was worth it and I swore to never forget the simplicity of this moment. Yes I longed to see his true face but to Michael after so many years and so much history, this was the only face he knew. This would appease me for now but ultimately I would help him discover the face he'd lost. But when I whispered this to him I saw a strange light enter his eyes and I couldn't tell if he believed me. Loomis and his team at Smith's Grove had made the same attempt, but of course Loomis never cared for Michael on this level. Michael would never have me profiting from our story like the good doctor had, but then I had not a clue as to how things would climax. The allure of Michael was of how he could have a sense of sympathy and affection for me, but he was never far from using his knife. With my childhood reduced to dust, every moment with Michael was an unscripted adrenaline rush and I was becoming numb to the bloodshed.

"I know you haven't done so in over fifteen years but do you think maybe, with practice, you could learn to speak again?"

Michael lowered his hands and quietly regarded me before he shook his head. Before I could ask him to even consider the possibility, the sound of tires screeching up the front lawn drew our attention. I rushed to the window and ducked down low enough to avoid detection and saw a gathering of six trucks pull up with men piling out into the street. Many of the faces I recognized, in particular Billy's father who coached football for Haddonfield High School.

A former athletic star in his own right, Stephan Robertson had continued to live his stereotypical dream through his only son, even as he morphed into a pot-bellied, wife-beating with a not-so-secret drinking problem. Now he was hoping out of a truck with a rifle in one hand and the way he was calling orders to the others, he looked like the ringleader of a restless and vengeful lynch mob.

*****

***Remember I don't own Halloween, but I'd like reviews so I know what my readers think of the storyline and approve of where it's heading***


	10. Author's Update

**~*Author's Update*~**

**Hello everyone! I'm just want to thank everyone for their support for this story but I'm thinking about ending it. There are two reasons for this, one being the lack of reviews. I'm thankful for those who have favored it, secured story alerts and of course to those who have left reviews but I'd just would like to hear more from the people reading it. It truly sparks something in me to write more and when I read other compositions and see hundreds of reviews sometimes I think I'm doing something wrong. I know I need to have more gore it's just an aspect of storytelling I'm not accustomed to, but learning. So please call your friends and family and tell them there's a petulant child (I'm actually adult but I'm acting very juvenile with this) who needs to be pacified with reviews. **

**The second reason is…sigh, I want to do a sequel! That's actually the better reason because I want to see where I can take terms of this story. Since I was in high school I've been romancing Michael in my dreams and now that I've started posting stories I have the urge to see if I can deliver something worthwhile. **

**With that being said, I apologize that this is not an actual chapter update but the next chapter is ready for posting. I'm just holding it hostage. These are my demands:**

**Reviews because I want to be an attention whore this weekend**

**Tell me where you'd like to see the story go or what you're speculations are**

**How should Michael kill his next victim…male or female**

**And a 100 of those gold covered chocolate coins…I know it doesn't make sense just do it!**

**So stay tuned because I have more chapters, it's not ending anytime soon this is just a heads up. Like when Oprah said she's giving up her show years before she actually does it. Except I'm not as powerful—yet!**

**XOXO**

**Petite!**


	11. Chapter 10

**~*Author's Note*~**

***counting chocolate coins* What? Oh! Hi, there! Sorry for the wait but I had to do some more research which included watching Rob Zombie's Halloween II. For some reason I didn't care for it as much as the original remake, and I think that his wife would be unemployed if he didn't put her in his movies. The white horse thing just annoyed the hell out of me, it was so random and I wanted more Loomis, more Annie and less of Laurie. Sorry I thought Annie should have slapped Laurie for her petulant behavior. Thank you for everyone that sent reviews, and I hope to have chapter 12 up next week…because the waiting ten days in between posts just hurts us all. **

*****

Michael jerked me from the window, scooped me up into his arms and placed me into a crawl space at the end of the hallway, but it was elevated and my heart leapt into my throat. He gave me a look that told me to not protest and soon a board was being pulled away and he gave me just enough time to inhale deeply before he pushed me legs first inside the dark, cramped hole. The air was stale and I fought down the anxiety and spasms that came with cringing at the abundance of dust and cobwebs. I tried to keep my mind clear of thoughts of dead or living rodents and I curled my arms over my chest in a weak attempt to control my heart rate; when I tried to contain my breath, a hot sweat broke across me and I had to release it and take in the residue of years' worth of deterioration. Whether or not I was claustrophobic or not I wasn't sure but I was praying the men wouldn't linger long and search elsewhere. Lying on my least injured side offered me some relief but the space could barely contain a child, let alone a woman of my height which still wasn't much. I could hear the sound of drunken men shouting and banging about as they entered the house.

Police tape and plank boards didn't stop any of them and they grew louder the further they snooped about.

"Hey, Stephan it don't look like anybody's been here in years,"

"Oh he's been here before and if he ain't here now then he wasn't here too long ago that's for damn sure."

They pulled things from the cabinets and laughed at the rotting structure that was once his childhood home. For some reason that deeply offended me that they would violate his property with no regard to decency for the dead. I wanted to give them all a piece of my mind but I couldn't expose myself, even though these half-witted vigilantes were trying to restore order to the town I didn't trust them with my safety.

"So this is where that fucking hell-spawn was born, eh? Makes sense when you come from a shit hole like this, you're bound to be screwed up, right Stephan?"

That voice was too close and more footsteps sounded below me, meaning Michael had yet to attack. All of the men were probably armed but that wouldn't deter him, he'd been shot multiple times in the past and nothing had killed him. These pigs were going through his property, defiling it with their presence alone, yet he didn't lash out at them.

"Sheriff, we can't find anything here,"

The muffled voice that emerged from the radio was clearly Leigh Brackett and I realized that these men were working in concert with the police force. I wanted to stretch out and hear more but I dared not make a sound that would give away my location. When I should be screaming and flailing about to gain their attention and rush to them as my saviors I wanted to sink further into that hole.

"Stephan, send men to the woods and see if he hasn't gone there."

"But what do you want us to do when we find the girl?" Stephan inquired before spitting on the floor.

"If you can get her away from Myers just bring her to the station. We have a cell that can hold her. If what Laurie told us was true and it goes with what Loomis thinks, she's got a serious case of Stockholm Syndrome." replied Brackett, albeit somewhat reluctantly.

"Stockholm what?"

"_Stockholm Syndrome_," the Sheriff shouted as he grew more agitated, "it means she's bonded with him and thinks he cares about her and she about feels the same about him. Look she's been with the freak too long and just needs some help."

Stephan grumbled something under his breath before agreeing to fan out the men to help extend the search. He was given orders to do all possible to find and isolate me from Michael. Otherwise they are given permission to shoot with intent to kill. But they thought I was afflicted with some sort of psychosis, or break with reality—how ridiculous! Yet if Loomis believed it others would as well. The look of disgust that had clouded Laurie's face when she saw me with him, the sheer confusion when I stood up as his advocate was too much. By daylight the entire town would believe the lie.

"_Fucking hell man_, that _freak_ is really trying to destroy everything good about Haddonfield. Don't worry Sheriff, we'll get that son of a bitch. _Over!_"

The heat that was spreading through the tight space was enough to make me want to drawn in more air, but refrained for fear I'd cough or sneeze. If I struggled then the wooden boards around me would creak and I tried to remember that Michael wouldn't abandon me in a spider hole.

"Are you seeing anything? Any clue as to where he could have had her?" the bar owner, Mr. Tramer asked as he entered the corridor.

"No, no he's not been here tonight I guess and that doctor, Loomey, yeah he says Angie is brainwashed. He's got her thinking he's a good guy! Like he's her goddamn boyfriend or some shit like that. Tramer we have to get 'em before he gives more girls this sickness or a knife to the gut."

Stockholm Syndrome couldn't fit the bill this time because Michael Myers didn't fit any category, so why would our relationship fall into one? Stockholm Syndrome didn't make me want to unzip a mechanic's uniform to explore the flesh underneath, nor did it leave moisture between my thighs and it wasn't sweat. I wasn't Patty Hearst and I was not experiencing any mental illness because of my interaction with Michael. If that were so then Loomis should share a cell beside mine. But perhaps after all Michael had done it would seem improbable that anyone could love him, that he could hold an attachment to another human being after all the turmoil, yes I could see how that's hard to digest.

But I'm not crazy.

"Stephan, man come on I just got a call from Rory and he said Michael is heading towards the cemetery."

My attention was pulled back to the desperados milling about downstairs and suddenly the men were animated. A snarl escaped Mr. Robertson and he was instantly shouting this new information into his radio, while others began to rush back to their vehicles. The procession of profanity, yelling and an occasional belch moved further away from me and only when the last souped up engine had roared away did I realize that I had been holding my breath again.

But a gasp was torn from me when the small closed portal at the entrance of the crawl space opened and I saw Michael's masked face floating before me.

"How did you hide so well? I heard them say you were gone," I asked as he gently pulled me out and snuggled me against him.

"They'll come back when they find out you're not heading for the border. I don't know how you move so fast but you always take your sweet time walking places."

He silently pulled cobwebs from my mask and slowly carried me back to his parents' room, and once I was on the bed I knew he wouldn't stay with me. There was now a growing mob of citizens following him because their lives, children and homes had been threatened and Michael was looking for a fight, and he would pursue it to the end.

"Michael, they will try their damndest to kill you and if they get the chance, they'll hack you to pieces and burn the remains. Will you leave me only a stolen mask to remember you by? They said they want to get me help, but we both know that means locking me up in a place like Smith's Grove," I whined as he stood looking down at me, still as ever while I felt the prickling of tears in my eyes.

"Do you think Loomis will come out of retirement and oversee my care? Or perhaps in fifteen years I'll break out and I'll come back to this place and kill mercilessly until—"

Michael didn't give me the chance to finish my sentence as his hand shot forth and gripped my neck with startling strength. The air was cut off and a heat rose to my face as I felt my bones close to crushing before the bruise was finished forming. I tried to scream, tried to speak but only my tears spoke for me. I pounded on his arm weakly before I couldn't manipulate my own. Then Michael did something else unexpected, he released me.

Falling back on the bed while the oxygen rushed back into my gaping mouth. My head was swimming and he jerked me up from the mattress and as I coughed violently and angrily grabbed my leg and squeezed the flesh on my thigh until a purple hand print was visible. My screams were strained but were stifled with an excruciating slap across my right cheek.

"_Stop it!_"

His breathing was labored as his hand came down again and again until I fell silent and trembling. My face burned as blood spewed from my mouth and then I was weightless for a second, but it felt like an eternity. The mattress was gone and I was floating in the air and the pain didn't exist for a gracious moment until I slammed into the closest door, splintering the decayed wood upon impact. Bounding back I crashed to the dusty floor below and could only lie there quivering, the pain spreading to every cell and the last of my instincts and strength went to pulling my body into a fetal position.

Heavy footsteps that came to a halt beside my head sent more shivers through me because one of those boots could easily smash my skull with a little applied pressure. I wanted to cry out for my mother, for Mr. Robertson, for anyone who would help and make the pain stop.

"_Why?_"

I wasn't sure if I had whimpered it aloud or not but my head was drowning and my body was shutting down on me. He didn't kick me as I had originally thought and once again Michael was moving the chess pieces and I didn't know where he would strike. Instead of tasting a steal toe in my mouth I felt him removing my mask and he took in the damage he'd done to the one he'd always shepherded. There was no doubt a mask-like imprint was surfacing in blue and red on my face and as he turned my head, he clearly saw the finished product of his strength and brutality.

"W-why Michael…why'd you do it?"

His answer was to draw me slowly into his arms, so reminiscent of that first night and I, without a second thought, reclined against him. The madness was feverish and that was why I found myself embraced by him as he sat on the floor. He didn't seem enraged, like what had just transpired had never happened and it was as if we were in Chicken Todd's shack.

"Don't think you can hurt me and it'll make me stop loving you," I managed to croak, "but I won't forget how dangerous loving you is."

With that my head lulled back and I felt, from the fading light on another day of his rampage, the most recent trauma my body had experienced pull me under the lapping waves of my agony. Only the warmth through his uniform touched me but the trembling wouldn't cease and I was so tired. The pain and the exhaustion were competing and I heard a white noise cover my ears.

Keeping his legs up he pulled his arms from around me so I lay at an awkward angle and limply against his torso. He moved his hands up just as my decision for help turned to pure, undisturbed sleep, a product of a concussion no doubt. My eyes rolled and I felt my stomach twist as something pierced the blood humming in my head, the sound of old rubber moving. Lying across him, with my face a few inches from the floor, before my eyes could completely swelled shut I saw it plop down in front of me. This lifeless thing that had stared into the petrified countenances of so many of my beloved friends and others, and yet it simply laid there. The blows to my head were severe and I needed to summon the will to think of what this meant, because if the mask was on the floor that meant…

"M-Michael,"

As if to cradle an infant he placed a hand to the back of my head and gingerly lifted me so I could gaze upon what no one had seen in exactly fifteen years. Behind long tangled greasy strains of dark blond hair, I could see the deepest blue eyes directed at mine. An aquiline nose and a powerful jaw and a mouth with lips that was fuller than I had dreamt. I cursed myself for crying because they obscured my view of a man who had destroyed the Angelina Ramsey I had always known, and replaced her with a stranger. I had nothing but this moment. My hand, covered in dirt and blood, quaked fiercely as I pushed some of his tresses aside and smoothed them back so I could take in this experience and know that this was not a hallucination. He stared down at me, but his expression was blank while I was battling to stay conscious.

"You're beautiful…so…so handsome."

When my hand fell away he caught it in his own and brought it to his bare cheek, but again no emotion flickered in his face. Yet none of that mattered because his eyes spoke volumes and I knew my feelings were reciprocated. There was no disappointment that he didn't break into hysterical laughter, grinned or frowned because he was unaccustomed to using the muscles to express emotion. This would be far more difficult than remembering how to ride a bicycle but I was prepared to show him how. He'd tasted my love over and over even though only a few days had passed, I'd just seen how attractive he was and the adolescent in his arms did not want to be separated from him. Suddenly all of my teen idols were shadowy memories and I surrendered my affections for Billy instantly as I felt took in a ragged breath.

"Thank you…Michael for letting me see," I whispered as a coldness crept into my limbs. "Thank you for loving me."

*****


	12. Chapter 11

**~*Author's Note*~**

** Forgive the delay in submitting a chapter, I've been doing a lot of traveling at the behest of my lover who is actually more like the Joker than Michael Myers. That doesn't make traveling any safer but he pays for nice dinners and clothes, which is always great during a recession. But I digress. This is the chapter that I promised and there will be one or two more before I begin formulating and starting to write the sequel. I saw this documentary 'Halloween: 25 years of terror' and I really enjoyed it but I can't find the link, but I suggest any Halloween fans see it if they haven't already. I must warn you this is where I really return to my roots, romance so please be careful and try to keep your declarations of undying love to a minimum. **

There was death on his fingers, resting in his gnarled palms and yet the ice cold touch played across the plain of my throat, leaving a scorching path over my fresh bruises. He had created masks to convey the emotions he could no longer express, however he didn't need them at least not with me. I had a full view of his face and he wasn't looking through me but at me and as he surveyed the damage he'd done, I could see the smallest twinkling of what a psychiatrist would call guilt. He was careful to lie next to me and not crush my already battered form and he took in the vast differences that we projected. Both of us were in desperate need of a shower but my relaxed state wouldn't permit me to think of anything apart from one thing.

I hesitated and finally seized the zipper on his uniform and with the thumping against my chest as I slowly revealed his to the open air. There were clear signs of the hard life he'd lived since escaping the sanitarium. His uniform was covered in brown stains were blood trickled or splattered on him from his victims. But what else I found captivating almost as much as his face, which was his sculpted muscles.

I knew nothing of his parents, especially not his father so I did not from whom he'd inherited such a defined physique. For all I knew he had spent the majority of his time either locked away with his masks or sedated for months at a time for the slightest hint of hostility.

"Loomis' book says you grew so big and strong because of the evil festering inside of you."

He gave no opinion from the look in his eyes, only watched as I ran my fingertips over his left pectoral. He matched my gesture and I could hide the shiver that raced through me; the most erotic thing in the world it seemed was for two people to discover the other like this. Only then did it occur to me what was happening.

"Michael did you…um…have a girlfriend at Smith's Grove?"

_No._

"You mean you never…"

A blush must have colored my cheeks because he pulled me closer in a way to reassure me. As if I had experience making passionate love when truthfully my instructional manual were cheap Harlequin romance novels that I snuck from the grocery store. How silly to waste money on such trash but I had felt I needed some outlet for my 'frustrations', yet none of them had a plotline that revolved around my current predicament. And now two virgins would have to figure out the process for themselves. I held my breath as he pulled away the torn pieces of my hospital gown, acting like he had read those same books I had. Michael shrugged off the uniform and placed it in a heap with my gown and our socks. For a moment I could only lie there and drink in the sight of more of his tortured and magnificent flesh. The heat rose pass my neck as I dropped my gaze lower and wondered if the majority of his 'evil' had accumulated in his groin. Only when his nude body slid back alongside mine and he cupped my cheek did I see how I was shaking. There was no draft at the moment and I wished then I could know his thoughts as well as my own. Could he know I was frightened of what damage his length would do to me, and how much I desired it.

"Michael I know you can't fathom it since you don't usually display it, but could you be gentle with me?

I inhaled and blinked and he was lying over me but controlling his weight so as not to crush me, and when he captured my lips all other doubts and fears melted away. Michael deepened the kiss and we wrapped our arms around one another so we could taste each other. When he pulled back his pupils had dilated, as if he were inebriated and that made my heart swell—his first kiss. I let him take his liberties with me and yet he permitted me the same courtesy. My hands sought to memorize the odd texture of his muscles that flexed and moved under my touch, and he buried his face in my neck and hair to absorb my scent. My own eyes began to roll as he grew bolder and placed hungry kisses along my collarbone and electricity danced across my harden nipples as it connected currents with his tongue. To keep the world from slipping away my thighs locked around him and my fingers tunneled through his dirty locks. Never had a man tasted me, craved me and he awakened something wanton and free in me.

"God that feels so good, Michael,"

My words only drove him to bite and tease the other until I saw stars and more. The air would become fire if we'd continue and I pulled his face from me and forced him to meet my gaze directly. There was a look in his eyes that screamed violence, chaos, insanity and still I felt no fear. I swallowed hard and he gripped my waist and hoisted me up toward the headboard and dove between my legs so fast that no protest could be uttered on my part. How he could have known what to do was beyond me but as he gave the most intimate kiss one could give his woman, I did not care. Wait—_what? His woman?_ I tried to tell myself otherwise because it was rational but feeling his heated tongue stoking the flame, lapping up my sin until my mouth hung open and I thought a fly would nest down my throat.

"Michael you have to stop…or else I'll die,"

Only after another climax rolled through me did he relinquish hold of my hips, and like a crazed and starving beast, he regarded me and I knew that look, the smoldering of his deep blues came from undiluted lust. I started to chastise him for his crude behavior but the insanity drained from his face, replaced with that same blank expression when all the while his finger probed my void. His actions had left me slick and throbbing and in the same swift and methodical precision with which he stabbed his victims, he thrust one long digit inside. Instinctively my body stiffened and he tested my insides, studied how I whimpered and gasped as the pressure mounted. He cocked his head to one side and watched with silent fascination the display of emotions and reactions that radiated from me. Then to reacquaint his mouth and daring to add another finger left me in tears and writhing as he licked and stretched me. Torturously he pulled and prepared me and his name was forever on my lips.

"_Finish me, Michael, just finish me off!_"

Needing no more encouragement he pulled away and brought me closer to him and kissed me again. Our tongues fought and I could taste my own unique flavor on his chapped lips. The lust had dimmed a little and the love that I knew he had for me surfaced as he positioned himself. He placed the burning tip to my entrance and gradually he pushed at small increments as I silently prayed for relaxation as I kept my legs spread to provide better access. But the tremors had returned and all of my five dollar lessons from my books disappeared, making us look more like a wolf about to devour a defenseless rabbit rather than lovers.

I nodded to him to continue and closed my eyes as the first few inches seared a pathway, burning until I cried out. Still he wouldn't stop to give me time to register all of the pain and forced his entirety. My tight walls were ablazed and when he began to move that pain was only exasperated. Looking down I saw how he disappeared inside of me, binding us by a slow rhythm that he controlled, and then my breathing hitched and the pain quickly dissolved into something else. Only a small ache in my inner thighs remained as the most delicious sensation washed over me, leading me to grasp his back and the first of many climaxes rose up. Michael's brow was creased and sweat began to form on our skin and once I was accustomed to his length, he accelerated until my breath and screams came at awkward burst to match his movements. For what seemed like days he pounded my flesh, sliding in and out while I whimpered his name over and over. He lifted one of my legs and then the other and placed them over his shoulder, something I had never seen and began to rock into me. The pressure was increased by the angle of my body and the pleasure was nearly blinding. Even if he were wearing his mask the stern expression would have shined through as he focused all of his strength into uniting us. After tonight I could never be with another man—not when he sexed and killed the way he did.

"I love you, Michael," I croaked when the pressure climbed to the point it actually hurt, "only you Michael, I promise."

My words spurned him on and he released my legs and collapsed atop me, but never withdrew but instead thrust harder as I screamed. My cries rattled in the condemned house and if anyone were watching from the outside they would have easily heard. A powerful tremor tore through him and he gripped my hair with a strength that made me fear for my tender scalp. He didn't move immediately as he filled me, spilling his essence deep inside while my inner walls cradled him. Only after he gave me a kiss that exuded his inaudible thanks did he withdraw, and I immediately felt a sense of loss and the draft returned to chill our drenched bodies.

He pulled the sheets over us and clutched me to him as if I had any place to go. Lying on our sides and bashful grin tugging at our cheeks, the aftershocks of our love-making still pulsated through my lower body. I swore then to never forget these moments where I learned who the true Michael Myers was—he was mine.

"That was _way better_ than any autumn ball," I mused aloud.

Though the bed had enough space that I didn't feel cramped or feared falling out, I preferred to be locked in his arms. Despite being a fugitive I gave a sigh of relief and with one final kiss I found the slumber that had eluded me. For the first time in fifteen years, Michael did not require a mask to find some semblance of peace, which is the greatest unspoken compliment he could pay me.

The whole situation tickled me in a light way and though his mouth made no movements, his eyes were smiling. My limbs were practically useless and I wished I had access to the back room of a pharmacy. A couple dozen painkillers or a nice long hypodermic needle full of morphine would have been heavenly. But the humor was only elevated when I saw the remains of seared flesh on the floor beside the bed.

"You're a great nurse Michael, you know that? You missed your calling as a chef as well."

Michael continued to stare and lifted the leg of a rabbit close to my mouth and assisted me as I ate it, somewhat greedily. He was always productive when I closed my eyes because he managed to know exactly what I needed and when; in this case it was a rabbit he'd killed, skinned and roasted somewhere. Despite the lack of seasoning it was delicious and I thanked him for his generosity. His killing skills were finally paying off to another person's advantage.

"Chicken Todd probably taught you a lot about surviving in the wilderness, huh? If it were so dangerous I would have liked to see him again, he was so kind to us and he didn't judge us like the others. He knew I'd learn the reason why you kept me alive and I think he'd like to know how we're doing."

He tossed the bare bone over his shoulder in a nonchalant fashion and I saw half the carcass was left. Though he silently nudged me to eat it and I insisted that he consume it to help build up his strength, as if he needed to do so. The early morning hours as I slipped in and out of a fitful sleep, he had begun practicing his facial expressions. It began with an odd twitching of the left corner of his mouth and quivering of his chin at momentary intervals. We had taken advantage of another romp beneath the soiled linen sheets and he was able to use his mouth with wicked expertise. I concluded that he was able to lose himself in me and I in him, and when swept away in the passion we shared, he could express strain as he concentrated. His rustic features were firmly set as he pounded away at my flesh until tears burned my eyes.

Since then he had successfully executed the look of sight annoyance, particularly when I refused the rest of the rabbit.

"If you'd like I won't look at you while you eat, Lord knows I could lose consciousness at the drop of a hat."

I had meant to mentally applaud his progress when he lifted one eyebrow but instead I melted. He'd awakened something very primal in me, something normal puberty could not do and if my head was not pounding I could ask for round three to commence. Michael reached for the rabbit that had been resting on the tissue paper from the gift bag and with a glance that indicated that I must not watch him, I suddenly found a spider web on the window sill fascinating. From the corner of my eye I snuck glances and heard the ferocity with which he ate. He gave no care for eating around the bone but crunched through them, devoured the brunt marrow and left little for the mice to steal.

Only when the cool hand of my criminal lover pressed against my cheek did I know it was safe to look again.

"Michael we can't stay here much longer and they're bound to come back here. Where can we hide? We should leave Haddonfield altogether 'til things have calmed down or we think up something better. I just know it's not safe for us here."

Even as I said that I felt the heaviness around my neck and the pulsating sensation in my forehead increased. I was not an excellent fugitive but I was becoming a first-rate cripple with all the injuries I was racking up. There was no way we could return to Haddonfield Memorial because of the danger and I was positive no doctor would treat me without fear for his or her life. We couldn't hide in the cemetery and the woods were probably full of camouflaged men deputized by Sheriff Brackett. And I couldn't go home. I hadn't noticed until he wiped the twin tears from my eyes that I had begun crying. Was I really willing to give up my family for this man?

"The cemetery is south of here and if we move quickly, or as fast as my sore legs and your slow gait will carry us, we can escape to the next county. Then leave the state altogether, what do you think?"

_No._

"What do you mean? They are after us—"

_No._

He pointed a slow rising finger at me and shook his head before turning the finger on himself and gave one nod. I tried to reiterate the necessity of our departure only to see his brows knit together and his lips turn downward. What I was able to deduce from a weird game of charades and jumbled impromptu sign language was he didn't want to leave Haddonfield. Probably because beside Smith's Grove this was all he knew of the world, this was his hometown after all so it would be here he would make his final stand.

"So you're going to go back out there and kill at the risk of losing your life?"

_Yes._

"And what will I do?" I asked, my teeth clenched and fresh tears gushing forth but I made no move to dry them. "Do you want me to just go back to my parents' house and live as normal?"

_Yes. _

My outrage sent me sitting upward but a wave of nausea overwhelmed me and I was collapsing over the hard pillow. After it subsided I saw the concern and sadness etched into his rugged good looks, and he collected me once again and pressed his lips to my forehead. But this felt like a rejection, spurned by a boyfriend or a deep betrayal after all we had experienced. Like a petulant child I cried to him to reconsider, harder than when I had tried to convince Laurie or when I tried to keep that nurse alive. Again I was failing and my words turned to hiccups and strangled sobs as I pounded my fists against his bare chest.

"Don't you love me, Michael? If you did you wouldn't leave me like this. I thought I was happy before but I was just content with what was safe and ordinary and predictable. I came to life the moment I hit the bottom of the stairs and saw you take one step after another further into my life. _Please don't throw me away, don't leave me!_"

He wouldn't look away but absorbed my reaction whereas a boy my age would have cowered. A part of me wanted to lash out at him harder, to throw him across the room as he had done me, all because nothing I expected was happening. From the moment I confronted my own feelings and discovered how important Michael was to me, I had thought we would flee together. Damn cheap novels, how they fail me!

"Michael why do this now? Why can't we hide a little while longer and enjoy ourselves here," I stopped for a second to again take in the room before continuing, "and just forget the world a little while longer."

A sentimental and sad smile surfaced and he placed a hand to my cheek and caressed it softly. As if he spoke I swore I could hear the words in the air.

_No, Angie, we can't continue living in a façade and you can't let our feelings for one another stop you from living and being happy. But I must finish what I started. If I go down then it will be in a haze of gunfire and smoke, and I don't you anywhere near that and that's how I want it._

His lips touched my forehead and I went limp because I knew he was resolute in his decision and there was nothing I could do to prevent his leaving. I collapsed into my mind and did not notice how he placed me over my pillow, nor did I see how he curled up beside me. But the flutter of his lips against my own brought me from daze and I felt resigned to letting him go. If this is what he desired then I would allow him to leave and if he wished me to resume life as normal as possible I would attempt to. Michael had waited over a decade for this and he needed closure, just as anyone would—it's only human.

"Lie with me for a little while longer and let me savor this, please,"

Large steely arms tightened around me but didn't crush me. An hour passed before I found the strength to roll over and cuddle even closer and I sobbed anew until I hadn't the air in my lungs to continue. Michael crushed his lips against mine and seared it in my heart and I felt a sense of relief that leaving greatly pained him. I wanted to make matters difficult for him, I wanted to be the last conscious thought he had, not Haddonfield, Loomis or Laurie but me. Because surely he would be mine.

The harshness of reality must surely be more debilitating than labor pains, because when I awoke and alertness was restored reality descended upon me I instantly felt a grave sense of loss. His arms were not enveloping me; indeed upon rising the way the sheets gave told me I was alone. A trembling, dirty hand touched the side he had laid and felt the remnants of his body's heat still lingering. He had not long since left and only one tear slipped down as I tried to understand how my life had come to all of this. A psychotic serial killer had willingly allowed me to live, not unscathed but not harmed to the point I could not live as healthy as before. I know we wouldn't have an idyllic life with a white picket fence, that would be foolish and the life I would share with Michael would have been a perilous one. No, he was giving me a great boon by letting me go—then why did it feel as if my heart had been ripped in two?

**Again thank you all of your reviews, I read them and they brighten my day! Each one is special to me and that is the honest truth *smooches***


	13. Chapter 12

**~*Author's Note*~**

**Howdy! I'm not done yet, but I'm nearly finished writing this story. Anticipate one more chapter and then I will start brainstorming a sequel. This particular chapter will be a bit slow just because I need to get the story moving up to the climax. To make up for the pace I've made this chapter longer than any of the previous installments and I hope you enjoy it. Ultimately you will see a lot of conflict, internally for Angie and external amongst the other characters as they seek to stop Michael. You will see more about the connection between Angie and her family, Michael and Haddonfield, etc. But I swear that I will NOT post the last chapter without at LEAST ten reviews. Special thanks to Chloe Gilmore, Nanoe and of course YolandaFriella for your reviews and encouragement, this one is for you guys!**

*****

After the last of my tears dried on my dirty face, I scrubbed it hard enough with my hands to force feeling back into my cheeks. For an hour I had stared at the smear of dried blood, my maidenhood, against the old sheets and tried to understand what my next move would be. My instructions were clear, Michael wanted me to return home and try to piece together the remnants of my shattered childhood, but I was feeling defiant. This was not teenage angst or rebellion but a tidal wave of loyalty that I could not deny. Michael was the love of my life and to let him go off to meet his death alone was impossible.

I saw that his clothes, knife and mask were gone and there was still some heat in the sheets, meaning he had not left too long before I awoke. With a rippling pain that forced my breathing to come at uneven gasps, I strained to sit up and maneuver my broken and sore body toward the edge of the bed. The light filtering through the boarded up window was minimal but I could see the clear bruising, abrasions and more that peppered my body, in particular a pair of bruises in the form of large black and blue handprints on my thighs. Though I longed for a nice warm bubble bath to relieve my aching muscles, I cried aloud as I pushed myself to my feet; Michael needed me. But as soon as I gained my feet, my legs wobbled and I crumpled to the floor like a newborn colt. I cursed my weakness and dashed the renegade tears of frustration from my eyes and inhaled sharply.

"Come on, Angie, you have to do this, _you need to get up!_" I commanded myself, as my limbs screamed in protest.

With the bed frame for support I pulled myself up once more and waited for the dizziness to ebb long enough to test my legs again. Never an athlete to begin with, I swore to enroll in some water aerobic classes after this ordeal was over and perhaps my body would not fail me again. Sweat beaded my brow and down my back as I uttered a prayer for strength and endurance, just enough to last me the night. The only clothes available to me were my panties, socks and tattered hospital gown, but if Michael needed my help I would have gone naked. Whimpering I gathered the articles and dressed myself at a pace that would be embarrassing if someone were watching. Simply tying the gown behind me forced me to clench my teeth against the agony, and once my fingers finished fumbling with the straps I sighed with relief.

How could I, a child that looked like she'd gone through a meat grinder offer an experienced killer any assistance? Michael made no qualms about his ability to take on the Haddonfield police department and the lynch mob hell-bent on destroying him. This was his way of committing suicide, of getting revenge and closure and I stood to only interfere. Perhaps crawling back into the arms of my family was truly the only avenue open to me; it surely was cozier and safer. At home I would receive medical attention, pampering, rest and access to a well-cooked meal and working plumbing. Of course school was closed so I had no deadlines for assignments pressing upon me, and I could sleep in my warm bed and watch the _Price is Right_ without distraction. For a moment I allowed myself to dream of how peaceful my life could be again if I walked to the nearest house with its resident's home, call my family and return to the welcoming embrace of my loving parents in a matter of minutes.

But my thoughts were interrupted by the unmistakable sound of sirens blaring in the distance. From the slits in the window I could see the distinctive red and blue lights flashing and the sound wined as they raced passed the house. Suddenly all thoughts of my stuffed animal collections and Bob Barker vanished and my ambitions to reach Michael was renewed. The police vehicles were clearly heading towards the old cemetery and I ignored the sudden lightheaded sensation that threatened to overwhelm me and gradually placed one foot before the other, until I was standing and gripping the doorway. But just as I intended to use the frame for support, I felt a burning sensation sizzle into my palms, as if I had touched a heated frying pan. Snatching my hands away I examined them but found the flesh unmarred; but as I took a second look at the entranceway I saw brown faded marks on the old wood.

The marks reminded me of stains and yet they were in the shape of handprints, but my hands gave no indication as to how that was possible. I bit my lip in preparation for another jolt of pain and touched the marks again and felt the wind knocked from my lungs. My eyes watered and rolled and my knees buckled. Suddenly an alarming sense of agony and trepidation swept over me, as if someone were watching me, ready to kill me at any time. I heard screams and did not immediately recognize them as my own and as I fought for composure, I found myself drenched in blood.

"No! No, no, it's not real…_not real_," I whimpered and tried to wipe the blood away but more seemed to pour from unseen wounds.

But there was no one present to inflict any wounds but the horrifying fear of attack drove me to crawl from the room, into the dark, dust-covered hallway. The pain grew blinding and strange lights flashed before my eyes, revealing only glimpses of some image.

_'No, Michael! Please! No! Don't kill me, Michael, don't kill me…' _

The voice erupted from my lips but it wasn't mine, the blood seeped out of my mouth with a coppery tinge but it couldn't be mine. The flashes came closer together, the hallway was illuminated, transforming it from rotted and littered to warm and freshly painted. I saw a body lying in front me, a teenage girl struggling and crying for help and mercy just before me. Her flimsy shirt came pass her thighs but blood saturated her back as if someone had slashed her repeatedly. I felt the blood in my mouth turn to foam and cold tremors began surging through me, just as the girl looked over her shoulder. It was in that moment I felt my heart stop.

Her limp light brown hair was matted to her face and soaking up her blood while her brilliant blue eyes widened in terror. Those haunting blue eyes were so familiar, so gut-wrenchingly similar to Laurie's and…Michael's. She was seeing her murderer and pleading weakly for her life, desperation clouding those crystal clear blue eyes.

"Judith Meyers."

Her name was a strangled sob on my lips and it was quickly swallowed up as a scream resounded off the walls and brought a chill racing up my spine. From behind me a boy, no more than ten years old, stepped forward and raised his arm before slamming it down, planting a long kitchen knife deep into her back. The screaming stopped and the light disappeared as quickly as it had come, leaving me alone and near the edge of the staircase. I wiped my mouth and looked myself over and while I was covered in sweat there was no blood to account for. Though my head buzzed I felt no pain as before and yet now I understood the stains, for they stretched from the door to a larger spot on which I now lay. Blood—_Judith's blood_. I lay in her death trail, where Michael, as a mere boy had stalked and butchered her all those years ago. The apparition had felt so real that I had relived the scene of her death.

Just as he had killed the nurse in the hospital, he had slaughtered his sibling whom Loomis had alleged as 'promiscuous'. Slowly I pulled myself upward and shuffled to my feet I realized that the experience had left me undaunted. The ghosts of Halloween past would need to do better to keep me from venturing out.

****

The crisp night air whisked pass me and invigorated me. The chill was definitely a November one and I decided that I would move through backyards inside of walking out in the open and risk being discovered by the authorities. I was sure Sheriff Brackett had summoned help from all over to help take down Michael and I heard the commotion accumulating.

"Please let me get to him first," I prayed, feeling the weight of the last few days slowing me down. Luckily Haddonfield wasn't a large town and normally it would take only twenty minutes to walk to the area where the cemetery was located. My injuries would be no match for the adrenaline that was bubbling up in my stomach, forcing heat into my skin. I knew which houses to avoid, the one that might have large dogs or anything that could be a barrier to me. Most of the windows were dark and I hoped that would mean people were not out hunting, but had decided it's best to leave turns to the authorities.

I hadn't any desire to travel near my own home and drudged on through dew-damp lawns, pressed against square hedges and tall fences. At one point I passed a yard with an old fashion clothes line and gave a sigh of relief. The deities of technology had not touched this old couple's home and I muttered apologies under my breath as I snatched a large Cosby- esque sweater and pulled it over my head. The cozy fabric was cool from the night air but quickly wrapped me in its warmth and the hem came well pass my knees. A pair of tub socks also hung on the line and since the necks would reach above my ankles, I switched them, leaving the ripped ones behind.

"Desperate measures," I whispered before I dashed on, hoping the old couple would not mind my thievery.

****

Despite excellent grades in school I regretted not recalling the unit on astronomy in my physical science class. I couldn't make out time by the position of stars or moon and exhaustion was creeping into my legs. I had slunk through countless yards and I feared that I would be too late. Deciding to rest against a plain wooden fence for a few moments would not be wrong given how far I'd marched, I slid down to the grass and inhaled sharply. I closed my eyes and tried to composure and prepare myself to stand again and before I could open my eyes, I felt a swift and painful pressure envelop my throat. My eyelids flew open and saw nothing but the tension, life a vice-like grip pressed into the soft tissue of my neck until I thought the bones beneath would break. I tried frantically to massage my throat, to coax the pain away and suck in air, but to no avail. Only whimpers and gasps materialized from my lips, and even though I wanted to remain hidden I wanted to scream. Tears burned a path down my cheeks and light exploded into my eyes, so fast and so bright I hadn't time to react to its intensity.

Just as before my eyes rolled and an image surfaced in my head of a woman, young and beautiful, naked and struggling. I forgot my own suffering and focused on the phantasm. Her blue eyes were turning red, blood seeping out like tears and more dripped from her nostrils as she attempted to break the hold of large, gnarled hands that looked like…_Michael's_.

Tremors racked my body as the pressure slowly dissipated and yet the vision continued. A kitchen, a discarded red robe on the linoleum floor, a shattered wine bottle and finally—another body. I curled against the fence as I watched the scene play out in my mind like a movie as the blue and black spread up the woman's neck and soon she went limp in his grasp. As if she were a piece of trash he let her flop to the floor, only feet from a man who was lying face down in a growing crimson pool. Pieces of his flesh, chunks of torn flesh and brain matter was splattered about the corpse. It occurred to me that he had found this couple together, perhaps enjoying a tryst when he happened upon them. Though I could not see Michael, I could feel him, as if I were inside of him and seeing through his eyes.

He knelt down beside the woman's body, looking into her glazed over green eyes and took in the delicate features of her face, forever frozen with an expression of fear and panic. She held a strong resemblance to Judith. He was truly taking revenge on Haddonfield.

When the light left me and the tremors stopped I cursed the huge sweater and socks I wore as my skin grew clammy. He had not immediately gone to the cemetery but was having one last rampage. There was no telling how long ago this all happened because the last vision was of an event that happened about fifteen years ago. He might have not arrived at the cemetery yet and by the time I get there, all of Haddonfield could be turned into a graveyard. But I couldn't let that keep me from moving forward and I tried not to think of what was happening to me, but found that impossible. If I were seeing through his eyes then there was a much deeper connection to Michael then I realized.

"God, Michael, other people get STDs, what the hell? And where are you?"

I wiped my forehead and gradually gained my feet and took another breath and carried on. Whether or not Michael could see inside my head or through my eyes I hadn't a clue and I prayed that this was all just the result of extreme levels of anxiety, but I knew better. Something greater was going on and Dr. Loomis couldn't help me. If Michael had somehow infected me with his 'evil' I could not say I was angry, just desperate to find him. Maybe Michael could, in his basic mute way, explain things to me; that is if Sheriff Brackett isn't lining us up for a firing squad.

****

By the time I passed the weathered metal green sign with the faded words 'Haddonfield Community Cemetery', I was on my hands and knees. My head was being beaten from the inside by an invisible mallet and I fought the urge to scream bloody murder, never mind the poor choice of words. The soft moist soil gave under me as I began to place one cut hand forward, gripping at clumps of grass and drags myself on. An hour must have passed and yet Michael was unrelenting. Like a seizure coming on I would feel ripples of chills echoing through me, then some awful pain in any random part of my body would engulf me. Then a grisly murder would play out before, no matter how much I tried to block it all.

I saw bodies literally snapped, bending the spines backward and the vertebrates crunching and the screams echoing in ears as if I were in the room. The sickening sound of flesh ripping open under the knife, the blade bathed in blood up to the hilt of the handle. A hot iron simmering on a board singed into skin until I could smell the repugnant odor of burning flesh. I cried out for him to stop, hoping vainly that I could get him to put the knife down, to not drown a stranger in the polluted bowel of an old toilet. I could see his hands and arms, feet and blood-soaked mechanic's uniform but he clearly could not see me, or he just ignored me.

"_Please make it stop, make it stop_," I heard myself say but every few minutes the endless horror movie would pick up again, more gore and death and I was helpless to do anything but suffer along with the victim's.

The fibers of the sweater had snagged on twigs and whatever else littered the ground. If anyone ever saw me they would think I was a vagabond but I continued to crawl through the graves.

Statuary in the form of cherubs and solemn holy mothers silently dipped their heads, adverted their eyes as if I were a leper. Yes I slept with Michael Myers, yes I loved the monster—Haddonfield's true boogeyman. A light fog had descended over the lawn and swirled around me with silver arms and blanketed the tombstones that jutted from the ground. Somewhere the Myers family graves were located here, undisturbed for over a decade until tonight. This is where the stand-off would take place, the gruesome finale fifteen years in the making. Even though I did know exactly where his family was buried I continued crawling as if drawn in one particular direction. I passed old memorial flowers that were once brilliant in color but now were dingy and covered in dead leaves. When I finally stopped I gazed up to survey how far I'd come and burst into a hysterical laughter.

It came out in incontrollable gasps until no sound could be heard and when I wiped my eyes I smeared mud on my face. I buried my face into arms and continued laughing but was able to catch my breath. But there before me were the collective graves of Donald, Edith and Judith Myers, their tombstones made of black marble and stood over me in ominous moonlight, as if they were sorry I had come, as if they knew who was coming.

"Talk about awkward first meetings," I murmured and pushed myself up so that I sat on my knees.

To keep from swaying I clutched Edith's stone and felt oddly comforted to be so close. I had never heard of any animosity between Michael and his parents, they had never meant to raise a murderer. In my mind I pictured a typical suburban middle-class couple hoping to create a safe and loving environment for their three children. Did they ever wonder where they went wrong?

"Whatever caused Michael to be what he is, I don't believe it was your fault. Inside I believe he had some humanity left, I've seen it. Maybe he can switch it on and off and when he does it's really hard to turn off the urge to kill. I refuse to believe he is just this mindless…shape."

At no point did I feel uncomfortable conversing with a stone, I'd have practice talking to Michael in the same way. I told his parents and sister about me and Laurie, of how we'd both grown up healthy, happy and very well-adjusted teenagers. I told them of the gentleness Michael could display when he wished and how I had wanted to flea with him.

"I love Michael and I think he loves me, or as much as he is able to. But he's set on destroying this community. I've seen the carnage, the innocent people he's slaughtered in their homes. But all the people that have died seem to either remind him of you, Judith, and others because he can. However he hasn't murdered anyone sick or very young, so maybe he has a sense of fairness. What isn't fair is that I have no answers and I feel like I'm being stood up…typical."

"_Angie!_"

My head snapped up and I looked over my shoulder to see a figure running up the small hill toward me, and as it came closer I recognized my sister. Christie's loose rustic curls whipped about her face as she flew up the hill, wearing a blue windbreaker, jeans and a pair of boots. Still I clung to Edith's stone until I felt her arms wrap around me and I could see the tears of relief shining in her eyes. While I had heard her voice calling me, air entered my ears and sound left then and time slowed. Behind her I could see where she had parked a car and now more were racing toward the cemetery. The mob had found me.

Looking back to Christie's face I could see her frantically asking questions and she was pulling me to my feet. I didn't speak and I barely blinked but felt almost disconnected to my body as she tugged me gently along. A gold sedan pulled up and my parents leapt out and clamored to us and suddenly hands, arms and lips connected with my body but I couldn't respond accordingly. Just as when I entered Haddonfield Memorial, I felt blocked off even though I was clearly present physically. I saw Laurie emerge with Loomis and Sheriff Brackett, she having obviously summoned the dogs. At that moment I felt a spring of hatred for my dearest friend and all at once feeling and sound crashed into me.

"_We have to get her home, she's wet and filthy and hurt!"_ my mother cried.

"She needs to come to the station and give a statement. She should be placed under arrest as an accomplice—" Brackett began before my sister verbally lashed out at him, calling an 'inept idiot who failed to do his job'.

He looked away and pulled out his radio and shouted into it, only to hear the broken sobs of the dispatcher, crying over the climbing death toll. More bodies had been discovered, more of the brutality was being found and yet there was no distinct trace of Michael Myers' whereabouts. Brackett's eyes were reddened no doubt by extreme stress, excessive crying and lack of sleep. He ordered the dispatcher to call the local television and radio stations and demand the high alert to be extended until dawn. I listened as he instructed all windows and doors to remain locked until the alert was over. The streets were to remain clear of all actively and anyone mistaken for Michael could be shot on sight.

"Don't worry, baby," my mother cooed, trying to put up a strong front, "no one is going to hurt you anymore and you're not in any trouble."

"Of course not, to think my little girl could help a killer is preposterous." my father chimed in, while glaring at the Sheriff.

Brackett ignored him because his town was under siege. Loomis was wandering about wide-eyed, hoping to catch a glimpse of Michael in the darkness and his pistol was glued to his hand as he ambled along. Laurie looked slightly agitated perhaps because she knew I didn't trust her anymore and she stayed close to the deputy vehicle she'd arrived in. More units were gathering here while others were fanning out and trying to protect residents and search for Michael simultaneously.

"Come on, Angie, let's get you home and cleaned up and I can check your wounds. If it's bad we can go to Chicago for medical help."

Christie, who usually looked younger than her years, seemed to have aged from worry; I winced inwardly at how I must look. My big sister would do anything for me and like Michael she would kill to protect me. Having her there brought me from the fog in my head and I was truly grateful to have her home, she could help me when no one else possibly could. I could tell her Michael and she wouldn't judge me. Laurie on the other hand had never tried to hear me out she just gave into her fears when I needed her most. No, Christie would never abandon me.

"Are you in any pain? Does anything hurt at all? Did he hurt you?" Christie asked, parting me from our parents and taking me aside.

"No, I'm not better or worse than when I was in the hospital really. Christie, do you remember him? Michael I mean? He doesn't want to kill me because he remembers us—"

"What? Wait, wait, Michael who?"

"Michael Myers. He's Laurie's older brother and he killed his sister fifteen years ago. He's back and he wants revenge and he's been tearing through Haddonfield…and he's the one that took me with him."

Christie's eyes darted back and forth as I told her quickly in hushed tones about the night I was abducted up until that present moment. A wide array of emotions played across her face as she listened and tried to square all that I said with her memory of a little boy with an angelic face. People had heard stories about what happened in the old Myers house, even her memories were vague but I promised that Dr. Loomis could confirm everything I had said. But in the end she nodded her head and swore that all would be all right when she whispered that I believed her.

Our conversation would have continued and I would have felt some semblance of normalcy until Laurie approached, her arms crossed under her blue parka, her nervousness playing on her face and she worried her bottom lip in that way she always did when she was preparing to say something, picking the words delicately. She opened her mouth and then closed it with a whimper before trying again.

"Angie, I'm…_sorry_, for, well everything. I was a coward, a real idiot to leave you alone like that twice. I-I was just so scared and I thought he was out to kill me, that he'd kill all of us."

"What do you think now?" Christie asked, vocalizing what I was thinking.

"Well, he didn't kill you after all this time and there must be a reason. Dr. Loomis thinks it's all Stockholm Syndrome, but I don't know. After thinking about what you said, I, um—"

"It's okay Laurie, I forgive you. _He_ would want me to,"

For a moment we lapsed into silence while Christie threw an arm over my shoulder. Those words felt greasy and wrong in my mouth but they needed to be out, but I couldn't bring myself to touch her. Instead I watched Loomis walking amongst the graves with his pistol in hand and periodically he would mumble aloud. Perhaps all of us would be sent to Smith's Grove tomorrow morning; I wasn't sure who was more certifiable amongst this motley crew.

"_Michael! Michael! We're all here!_ We've all come here for you, you just have to show yourself. _It's over, Michael!_"

Some of the people gathered had apprehensive expressions, while others looked increasingly annoyed, probably feeling the good doctor was the reason they were there, why so many had died. He had failed to keep Michael locked away by handing the case to people he knew didn't understand what lurked inside the catatonic giant. Their incompetence as well as his could easily be to blame in the eyes of the citizens of Haddonfield, when really nothing could have prevented this.

"Someone should tell him to shut the hell up," I heard one disgruntled deputy say, and it was followed by murmurs of agreement.

But no one did. Loomis continued to wander about aimlessly and I wondered if Michael was anywhere near the cemetery.

Everyone's attention was averted by the roar of engines came careening up behind the police vehicles. Men leapt out and came dressed in jackets, camouflaged and steel-toed boots. They were armed with metal and wooden baseball bats, rifles of varied calibers, two-by-fours and other weapons. The driver of the first vehicle, a man I knew as Brad Kendall's father, Larry Kendall rushed to Sheriff Brackett who was still talking with dispatchers on the radio. Larry was always known for his jovial nature, forever cracking jokes and helping out at the local Methodist church, yet now he looked gray and drawn. To my knowledge none of his children had been murdered, but he looked beyond distressed and rambled on incoherently until Brackett insisted the frantic man calm down and start his story over.

"Sheriff, the boys and I have been riding around looking for this bastard when we came onto highway 20 and we found Stephan Robertson's Rav4. Man, Chief, it was awful. The whole thing was overturned but we really didn't see long skid marks. There's pieces of glass and metal everywhere, but we didn't find Stephan."

"Maybe he was ejected from the vehicle," Brackett retorted, but his face and voice gave away his own disbelief.

"_The fuck he did!_" another man, who I recognized as a local deacon, stepped forward with a rifle thrown over one shoulder. "Sheriff, if you saw that truck you would know the only way he was 'ejected' would be if _Michael fucking Myers ripped him out_. That's what happened and he's probably in pieces while your deputies cower in a _goddamn cemetery!_"

Two deputies moved in and intervened, keeping the deacon from launching at the already overstressed lawman.

"I can't spare anymore men to go looking for him right now, I just can't. I want to get that son of a bitch too…he _killed my Annie_."

His voice began at a rough octave but when he uttered his daughter's name it dropped to a whisper. The deacon let his gaze fall and mumbled an apology but the truth stood that they couldn't locate Robertson. But the Haddonfield Police Department was spread thin and all reports showed that Michael was killing his way toward where we were all gathered.

"Michael! Come out now, it's time to end it here!"

I slunk away from Christie and Laurie and saw my parents were preoccupied with a female deputy, complaining about how their tax dollars should mean better security in this town. I hadn't the energy to roll my eyes and hobbled the paces necessary until I stood beside Edith's grave and kept my eyes trained on the dark woods. My lips quivered and I put a hand to the stone and tried to steady my breathing but my heart began palpitating faster and a sheen of cold sweat broke across me. Until Laurie touched my elbow did I realized she had followed me and her gaze was on the tombstones.

"My family?"

"Yeah, your parents and your older sister. Judith was around our age when he, you know."

"I can't believe all this time this town, my parents, or at least the people who I thought were my parents, could keep this secret for so long. All this time my true family was here. But how could I possibly be related to that fiend? God, I hope I never hear his name again—"

"_Michael!_"

*****

**Remember my threat, I want reviews because Michael is back and you know you want to see what happens when he and Angie are reunited…yeah, I know you want it, you just have to tell me how much!**


	14. Chapter 13

***Author's Note* **

**I owe you all an explanation for my disappearance. During the time I first started working on this story I was looking for employment and had lost of free time. Now I have a full-time federal position in Washington, DC and I have hardly any time to myself and that took time away from my writing. But I am forcing myself to take the time to continue this story to the end. After this chapter there will be one more and that will be the end of 'Under the Harvest Moon' and then I will start working on the sequel. Yet you all must understand that my posts will happen after long intervals considering that my career is very important to me but I hope to never keep you guys on hold like that again. I hope you accept my apology and you enjoy this chapter. **

The fog was thick and white like curdled milk but I could see him clear as day. The audience of vigilantes, weary citizens and a near hysterical Laurie took a collective gasp and stepped back. One of the tavern regulars who had come to tear a piece out of Michael audibly yelped and scrambled away, his rifle left behind in the grass. Even Loomis muttered incoherently to himself as his 'pet' stood silently surveying the crowd before him, all the players in place and the game prepared to begin. Laurie's fingernails bit into my right arm but the pain was compartmentalized to be dealt with later, along with the rest of my injuries, both physical and emotional. My reason for coming to this place and risking everything was standing perhaps twenty feet away at the most and even that distance was agony.

"Michael, please give up the fight and surrender," Loomis shouted, desperation and exhaustion straining his voice. "Let's end this tonight."

"No! You don't get it he wants to end it but he'll kill you all."

My shrill voice caused Laurie to sob anew and Michael's black eyes locked on me. Even in his murderous rage that quietly consumed him I knew he recognized me, he understood my words. Through the walls of his mobile catatonia he still loved me but I couldn't protect anyone in the cemetery. My only recourse would be to try to insist people leave gradually, starting with the unarmed. As I considered any possible options Loomis was jammering on in a poor attempt to reach the soul of his patient, to communicate with the brain behind the mask. A part of me found the scene funny simply because after fifteen futile years of trying with no success, he was still applying his tired psychology techniques. Michael was beyond the attempts to recall and recapture his fondest childhood memories. None of that mattered because he had switched off any remnants of empathy and even with the thick fog I could see the car headlights shimmering on his knife. Something dark still dripped from the tip and because I'd seen his deeds I was not surprised or repulsed. But I was pulled from my thoughts when Laurie screeched in my ear.

"_Just kill the son of a bitch!_"

I blinked before I shrugged her from my arm and turned to stare at her as if she were insane. Perhaps it was the same expression she gave me at the hospital.

"He's done wrong but he's still your brother and he loves you. He left Smith's Grove to find you and care for you like he did when you were a baby. You only know the killer but he's also a loving and caring man who is a stranger to our world."

"He's brainwashed you, Angie—"

"How the _hell _can a _mute man brainwash anyone_?" I asked incredulously.

Laurie's lips twisted as a look of defeat settled over her face.

"But he killed our friends and for what purpose? Annie is gone and now you're defending him? What does that say about you? You _are _brainwashed whether he spoke or not and you need help," she leaned in closer and her eyes bore into mine and whispered, "and he needs to die—_now_."

"Then so will I."

Resolutely I turned away and pressed my back to my loved ones, my best friend, the eccentric psychiatrist and Haddonfield. Let Angelina Ramsey die tonight, let it all end here. If my last moments on this earth have to be anywhere then I would have them in my lover's arms.

"M-Michael…"

My voice was unrecognizable and yet I know he heard me. On numb trembling legs I took my first tentative steps forward.

"_Angelina! Stop! He'll kill you!_"

Faintly I heard my mother but it was too late. The closer I stopped the less chilled I was, the more oxygen was in the air and the fog seemed to lift and part. How befitting for me to glide through this cemetery like a bride to meet her groom. Instead of a flowing white gown I wore filthy rags and a stolen sweater. Yet as far as I was concern my husband was and is Michael Myers and if we ever made vows to one another, ours would continue in death if life would prevent them.

Behind me I heard the frightened officers and vigilantes all woke from their collective paranoia and Sheriff Brackett readied his haphazard group.

"Angie, this is Sheriff Brackett!" he bellowed through a loud speaker. "Please listen to me and listen to reason. He has murdered the spirit of this town and he's taken what's most precious to me. I will not let him take you, too. Once we've stopped him we can all try to heal. There are others we must find and we need to take you home."

"Yeah, that fucking bastard kidnapped Robertson. _Where is he you fucker?_"

By the time the drunkard made his demand I was a mere five feet from Michael, and I could see the steady rise and fall of his chest. There were fresh wet strains on his uniform and one sleeve was torn open, perhaps from a struggle. His bare bicep was visible and was bleeding; someone had fought back but no doubt had lost.

Again activity erupted amongst the thugs as some try to hold others back, some distraught because their potbellied leader was missing. Cries of "Where is he?", "Whatcha do with him?", and "Give him back you piece of shit!" rang out. And then the world seemed to tilt as I saw Michael's right arm jerk forward, causing an unexpected chocking and gurgling sound. My stomach leapt into my throat and Michael's already labored breathing grew louder as the fog faded just enough to reveal a rope in his hand. He clutched it and my eyes began to water as they followed the rope until it disappeared.

"Michael, what have you done?"

To answer he pulled the rope and lifted his arm to the strangled coughs of a man struggling to breathe. Slowly he lifted the frightened man until he was dangling and kicking in the air. He wore no shoes, no coat and his shirt and pants were torn and bloody, covered in dirt and dead twigs clung to his matted hair.

"Holy shit, he's got Stephan,"

Robertson was bound about the neck with a rope, his face ashen and his eyes bulging. The flesh around his throat was red and bruising as he tried uselessly to free himself. His friends cursed and bit their lips in fury because their desire to help and their fear warred. Blood poured down his face from a large gash; he had been drug through the streets, into the woods to this cemetery.

"Angie, tell him to let him go," Loomis commanded knowing Robertson had precious little time.

"_Please_…_help_…" the dying man gasped.

A part of me felt awful that this authoritative powerhouse of the community was brought to the brink of soiling himself before he drew his last breath. But that part of me was dwindling like his pulse. Nonetheless he was Billy's father and though neither deserved my sympathy, I wasn't heartless. With that in mind I stepped closer until I could see the spittle on Mr. Robertson's blue lips and the pathetic look in his eyes made my mouth twitch. If the circumstances weren't so dire, I would have laughed and I nearly did so as the damp stain began to spread across and down his pants.

"Think of dying puppies, think of dying puppies," I muttered and allowed my gaze to brush the holes of his mask.

"Michael, that's enough now. Mr. Robertson has suffered and he won't bother us anymore. You have to let him go. Please Michael, for me, gently put him down."

My plea felt like grease in my mouth but a man's life was at stake. Still by all appearances I could tell he was contemplating my request. For me he had taken lives, I wondered if now he would spare one. He certainly needed to make up his mind because Robertson's tongue was lolling out of his mouth. I felt everyone taking a collective breath and Michael, in his typical way, cocked his head to one side and regarded me as if he didn't understand. Was his face tense? Was he rolling his eyes? Or was he smirking knowingly at how awkward this whole this whole situation was for me? And then he made his choice.

Slowly he began to lower Robertson until the man's feet came to rest unsteadily on the damp grass. Michael's masked head drew closer to his petrified victim and I could see the flesh around his eyes and only when I was a breath from him did I realize I'd moved, because I could see the emptiness in his gaze.

"Put him down Michael,"

Those darkened eyes rolled towards me and did not blink. The pupil had engulfed his eyes and the evil had consumed him—he was beyond my reach. But Robertson had extended one arm in a sad plea for help and I did not reach for him; I couldn't do it again.

"Michael just put him down."

He nodded once and lifted his hand to begin unfurling the rope from around his victim's neck. His attention was drawn to Loomis who had come to stand at my side and he gave me a weak smile.

"Now Michael, we'll get you back to Smith's Grove and we'll get Angie the help she needs, too. You've done well Michael now if you—"

Within a split second Michael blinked and his right hand clutched the rope and his left swung back and launched the knife forward until it embedded the blade through Robertson's back. He lurched and screamed until only squeaks tore from his mouth. His chest cavity exploded, the blood and tissue spurted and gushed while the knife twisted in his back. The blade tip dripped through the gaping hole before disappearing as Michael reached up and drew it across the paralyzed man's purple throat. Crimson trickled from his mouth and nostrils, his eyes wide and disbelieving as they began to glaze, his face frozen in his last agonizing moments. I sought to wipe a tear from my eye only to realize that it looked almost black. It ran down my cheeks, down my neck and coated my clothes. The volcano of Robertson's innards had cascaded down upon me.

"No, Michael! No!"

Loomis reached into his overcoat, into an unseen pocket and withdrew a .9mm, his hand shaking as he took little time to aim.

"_Don't shoot him!_"

Instantly I leaped upon Loomis and tried to push the gun away and out of his grasp but he had already fired three times Michael easing deflected the bullets by using Robertson's twitching corpse as a human shield.

"That's it boys, take 'em down. On my order, fire!"

My head darted toward Brackett who had advanced closer with more armed lunatics. A firing squad I turned back toward Michael as he nonchalantly tossed the body aside as if it were trash. He stood there, ready to receive their punishment, awaiting the oblivion death holds. But I couldn't focus while Loomis wrestled with me, his strength increased by his adrenaline rush and he shouted incessantly that I let go of his arm; I wouldn't let him give Michael what he wanted. But he was able to overwhelm me and thrust me off hard enough that I fell in the path between him and his target.

"Damn it! If I have to kill you to save these people then by God I'll do it!"

The air rushed from my lungs as I stared back at the weapon, his hand now steady. Distantly I heard my family screaming for Loomis to stop, for someone to stop him but I lay prostrate on my back and elbows. Then I saw a pair of feet, one foot on either side of my head and the fear diminished. Standing over me like a dark guardian, I scrambled to my feet and found over a hundred guns pointed in my direction. Instinctively I pressed myself against his hard abdomen and gulped in anticipation. Sweat broke out against my brow and I took a deep beneath and let it out.

"On the count of three," Sheriff Brackett began, holding his arm in the air.

I squeezed my eyes shut and reflected over all we had been through, the discovery of my dead friends, my abduction and taken to Chicken Todd's shack in the woods.

"Two!"

Michael's first gestures of compassion and our trek to the hospital I realized how Laurie betrayed me and our flight to his home where he showed me more, taught me more and loved me more within the span of hours than others experience in a lifetime. And now it was all over. Time seemed to slow dramatically until I could see each puff of air escape in great detail. I took one last look into that placid white mask, beyond the eye holes and saw clear blue pools staring back at me.

"Michael, I love you, I'll always—"

"Three! Fire!"

Before he could get the words from his mouth the first barrage went off, rounds ripping out of hot barrels and zinging forward. The first ones hit his shoulders and he withstood them but more crashed into his chest, inches above my head. Blood burst forth and rocked back and forth from the force.

"_No! Michael!_" I screamed only to feel myself being thrown aside, this time by Michael himself just as five or six more bullets entered his stomach in front of where I'd been standing. For a moment I was disoriented and the wind took my hearing. I could see the clouds of smoke, the fire oozing from the rifles and hand guns as Michael jerked and contorted. Yet he never dropped his knife. Trees splintered as missing bullets lodged themselves into trunks and snapped small branches.

"Hold fire, hold your fire!"

The call went out and surprisingly everyone obeyed as plumes of smoke dissipated and yet still Michael stood despite the massive amount of lead that had entered his body and the equally massive blood loss he was sustaining. The whole thing lasted perhaps thirty seconds but it felt like a lifetime until he finally dropped to his knees and slumped to one side. When my hearing came roaring back I could hear my own screaming over the shouts of triumphant of the men and Laurie sat in the grass behind them with her hands still covering her ears and rocking back and forth. Loomis stood with his watery blue eyes wide and his hands still clutching his gun as if afraid Michael would rise.

"Angelina, oh my baby is safe,"

Sooner than my parents could leap upon me I crawled frantically to his side and found him remarkably breathing. The bullet holes in his chest were smoking and I took his free hand and pressed my lips to it and when he turned his head to look at me I couldn't hold in my choked sobs.

"_Michael, Michael stay with me, please_. _You can't leave me like this so just listen to my voice and don't close your eyes."_

My voice was hoarse and yet I knew he understood as his eyes held a peculiar light, one I had first seen when he held my hand on the mattress. I'd seen it when he left me at Haddonfield Memorial and just before he made love to me.

"Michael, how can I live without you, huh? What reason do I have when I don't have you?"

His eyes seemed to smile at me instead of the vacant glare expected. However long I live I swore to never forget these last moments.

"_I love you, Michael_."

He blinked and gave a nod so small only I could see it but reciprocated my feelings even if the others thought him incapable. His grip was iron tight around my hand and I laid down on his chest, absorbing the last of his heart beats into my own as seizures consumed him. He didn't let go of me or his precious knife as we rode the spasms and finally he slipped into cardiac arrest. The final beat fluttered beneath my cheek and I thought the hollowness could swallow me whole.

"Okay, let's clear the area and set up a perimeter. Call the Coroner's office to have this son of a bitch hauled away," Sheriff Brackett muttered to his second in command. The jubilation I anticipated was not there, just an abundance of weariness; even though I should have hated him, I should have utterly despised the man who had ordered my lover gunned down in the dead of night, but I couldn't because of all he'd suffered. He hadn't the time to mourn Annie and he deserved my respect.

Loomis stalked closer and looked over the carnage he'd failed to prevent no matter how hard he'd tried. I prayed he would drink himself to death by the end of the next year. He deserved to be reunited with his most beloved patient.

Two deputies were helping Laurie to her feet to guide her to a car but she continued to look over her shoulder to convince herself he was actually gone. I would probably see her in a padded room across from mine if the post traumatic stress disorder settled in. An ambulance had arrived on the scene to remove Robertson and his buddies all announced they would check out the town to search for more bodies. The fire had gone out of them and they turned to their vehicles with a heaviness in their limbs. There was no victory here when so much destruction had been wrought and none of the lives lost could be replaced. I didn't have the strength or desire to direct them to the other victims they would surely find.

"Come on baby it's over, see he can't hurt or confused you anymore. Let's get you home and we can get things back to normal."

My father carefully pried me away from him and hoisted me up in his arms. Both my mother and sister looked haggard but relieved but I couldn't speak anymore and my tears were drying. I truly felt like a shell of myself and allowed them to carry me to the ambulance to be examined by a paramedic. The medical team took me and settled me on a gurney and cut off the sweater while someone flashed a light in my eyes. An IV was administered and a list of injuries and possible traumas were rattled off. Beyond them I could see yellow police tape being brought out and the Coroner's van had already pulled up alongside the ambulance.

"…Will you sign off at the hospital for a rape kit?"

"Haddonfield Memorial?"

"No that facility has been shut down and all patients have or are en route to Chicago."

"We'll follow you there…"

I half heard the conversation because I watched two loud and obnoxious county workers jump out of the van and proceeded to collect Michael.

"Now make sure you're careful—"

"Oh we got this," the first idiot proclaimed, cutting off the Sheriff. "We used to work at the Depot cleaning the traps down the street from the gas station."

"Yeah," the other imbecile chimed in, "and he's the biggest rat we've ever taken off."

"We'll just drive safe boys," the Sheriff said before handing his rifle to a passing office.

They made faces behind his back then began putting out a black body bag and putting Michael's remains inside. A forensics team was coming and they would take the knife and bag up the evidence around the area.

"They're going to take you to the hospital sweetie, and this time you'll be absolutely safe."

"Thank you, Mommy."

Yes, let them think that all is well now, let them comfort you so they think they're helping and thus feel relieved that they assisted me in my recovery. Let everyone believe that these last few days could be wiped clean after physical and psychological examination and subsequent treatment. The emptiness, the numbness was swallowing me and I heard one of the EMTs say something about shock. I was covered in a lien blanket and the whine of the blaring lights staring. The driver leapt from the vehicle and my family followed.

"She's in good hands, folks, you've got nothing to worry about."

All of this came to me like a weird intangible dream and the slam of the double doors didn't register, but silent tears spilt down my cheeks as I observed those two yokels haul Michael away. They gave no reverence—simply shoved the heavy bag in the back of the van and took long swigs from a canteen. I could hear their laughter and lewd jokes but there was nothing I could do about it now. It was over, just like he wanted it.

They climbed into their van and revved the engine before speeding off crazily, barely missing tombstones and officers until I couldn't see them any longer. The driver of the ambulance spoke to the paramedic monitoring my vitals and soon we were on our way. I saw my parents and Christy head for the Camry and Loomis and Sheriff Brackett were lining up another sweep of Haddonfield. I honestly didn't give a damn where they'd taken Laurie and purposely did not ask.

"Michael's gone…"

"Yes, Angelina," confirmed the EMT holding my hand. "He's dead and gone forever,"

A groan escaped my lips and I shut my eyelids and found in that darkness the memory of the glow of his blue eyes captured in my memory. No matter what would happen I would never forget the man who destroyed and loved me unlike any person could. My Halloween would be life-long and I prayed for the strength to assimilate back into society, to appear as I had before Michael tore into my world, shaping it behind a white mask and at the edge of a knife.

"God help me," I croaked just as my weariness sucked me under, "it's over."


	15. Epilogue

**~*Author's Note*~**

** The End Has Come! After a year I have finally completed my masterpiece and I am proud of what I have accomplished. So much has transpired in my life since I first began composing this story and I have grown with the plotline. I wanted to finished before my 24****th**** birthday this week and before I depart for the Bahamas (where I don't think Michael can find me) so consider this my Valentine/Birthday gift to all of the people who have supported my work thus far! I want to thank those who favorite my work, who kept alerts and who sent in feedback and questions and kept prodding me to keep at it until I produced this rather interesting ending. But is it an ending? What will happen? Oh, the suspense!**

"_Fucking hell man!_ You didn't hit it!"

"Nah, I didn't but you know how I like them butch-bitches. They just need a good size cock to set 'em straight."

The two morons nearly choked on the unintended pun as they cranked up the volume on their radio. They had driven pass the Haddonfield border and had entered the next rural county over. For miles there were fields and farms along long stretches of road. The coroner's office had planned for Michael's remains, once Sheriff Brackett brought him down, to be transported to Chicago for forensic and other testing. Chances were that once the laboratories finished with him parts like his brain would be preserved for posterity. The rest would be dumped or taken as prizes for freak shows and eccentric millionaires. But first the body had to arrive safely and timely and the task had been left to Cordy Ricks and Brian Cross.

Neither had graduated, both lived proudly in close proximity to thriving and combustion-prone meth labs. Their teeth were atrocious, they were filthy, unkempt and ill-mannered. But somehow both had found the connections necessary to land these jobs and spent their money on loose women, drugs and cheap booze instead of soap, water and deodorant. This was undoubtedly the most important duty the two had been assigned yet they were extremely high and their blood alcohol levels was ridiculous.

"Shit, I would have loved to get my hands on that sweet little bitch with the blond hair. Y'know, Laurie Strode—"

"You mean the freak's kid sister? Yeah she looks like a squealer but she's probably crazy as hell since she's related to that dead fucker." Brian said as he tossed another empty bottle behind the seat, not caring that it hit a corpse. Even though he was supposed to be driving he cradle an unopened bottle of Jack Daniels between his legs and twisted the cap while maintaining a hand on the wheel. His watery eyes darted back and forth between the road and his liquid sustenance, his clammy hands slipping on the cap.

"Damn it, man! Let me open it before you get us killed." Cordy shouted, grabbed the bottle and handed it back after he removed the cap and tossed it nonchalantly out of the window.

"Thanks man," the rim hit his lips and after a long rough swig that coated and burned its way down, "now you might like that little slut but I want the other one."

Cordy raised one brow and took another hit of his joint and coughed against the potency.

"Oh yeah, Angie, the one Myers took and raped."

"The very one, I mean she's had that crazy fucker all inside her and looked like she _enjoyed_ it."

Brian felt the familiar and welcome ache in his loins but he would satisfy that particular urge as soon as they dropped off the cadaver. The Flea Box would have women from wall to wall in smoky rooms and up at the bar. He licked his lips and made a mental note to find a nice brunette to relieve his woes. The only downside to this position was the fact that it took precious time from their 'extracurricular activities'. Because the Haddonfield coroner's office still did not administer drug tests he could still indulge during the day, but in a town where almost sixty percent of the population was over fifty-five and had three nursing homes, their nights were seldom their own. Even if no one died they were expected to report for duty. Michael Myers had given them more trouble than they preferred and they didn't receive over time. No one was more excited to see that murderous rampage end than they and both intended to make up for lost time.

"If I could get a handle on Myers' girl I'd be in Heaven," Cordy muttered as he tapped the joint's edge on the glass of the window and the ash flew away. "I mean now she's primed to have a big man. She may get lonely now that her psycho is gone."

"Not like he could stop either of us, I mean pretty soon these eggheads are gonna slice him up worse than he did Robertson."

The two chuckled together but the idea was beyond appealing, and could serve as the perfect solution to avenging their lost time. Michael had stood in their way and without his presence Angie truly was fair game. Brian grumbled about changing the subject should the two find themselves in an uncomfortable position. The pressure against his filthy trousers was building and Cordy was the last person he wanted to know, yet his comrade was simply too inebriated to care and continued to muse about what Angie hid beneath her clothes. Brian took another swallow of the amber liquid and clenched his teeth as the conversation shifted to a darker place.

"Look at it this way; you know how black people always wanted compensation for shit that happened hundreds of years ago?" Cordy began as he looked out at the trees as they rushed by.

Brian grunted and the stoned philosopher started explaining how reparations for slavery were identical to their duel raping of an innocent teenage girl. The town had suffered and they had missed out on raves and pre-game parties because of Michael's heinous crimes. They believed in their alcohol and drug-addled minds that they deserved something for their trouble. The thought of going back to that cemetery in the middle of the night in order to make terms even was appealing and never did her pain and trauma play into their fantasy.

"Hell we'd have to make those masks and do it to her so she'll scream for us like she probably did for him."

"She'll probably have one stretched out cunt by the time we're finished with her. But she'd probably tell the whole fucking town." Brian cautioned.

"Not if we're wearing the masks. No one would believe her anyway. Who would? I mean what's she gonna say? '_Two Michael Myers were fucking me hard, sucking on my tits and smacking me on the ass?_' Nah, they'll just put her away and we'll get off scot free."

The two erupted into hoarse laughter and decided to seal the deal with an impromptu toast. Cordy pulled a bottle of malt liquor from a brown bag and quickly opened it.

"Oh, first I gotta pour some out for my dead hommies." Cordy said with a fake urban accent and turned to look over his shoulder and poured some of the contents on the body bag.

They chuckled again before tapping their bottles together and gulping down as if they were drinking water. Cordy gave up the rim first and croaked for Brian to keep an eye out for the road.

"Shit, man, I got this calm down," Brian grumbled as he licked his lips.

"Well then watch how you're driving limp dick!" Cordy bellowed back.

"_Bitch!_"

"_Faggot!_"

"_Dickhead!_"

"_Cow!_"

Brian blinked for a second and tried to register the insult but Cordy's eyes were as large as saucers staring straight ahead, and when the former followed the latter's line of sight the headlights shone upon a white and black object standing directly in their path. Instinctively he slammed on the breaks but he had been traveling well over the fifty-five mile limit. Cordy braced himself against the dashboard and pressed his feet into the floor as if willing the vehicle to stop.

"_Fuck we're gonna hit_—"

Cordy bit down on his tongue, severing the tip at the same time his wrist bones cracked against the impact. The dashboard was pressed into them, the grill crushed into the cow and killed it instantly and the van's horn sounded long after the great beast ceased twitching. The entire front of the van was smashed inward, the hood crumpled and yet a headlight still worked on one side. The steering wheel had deployed an air bag but did little to stop the impact of Brian's face bouncing and breaking into a bloody pulp. The blare of the horn droned on while Cordy tried to lift himself but found his situation uncompromising and dire. Despite the blood in his mouth and the crimson stream that coursed down one side of his head, he could see the damage done to the van.

The pain was near blinding and when he tried to maneuver his hands and legs he cried out at the resounding hot agony that seemed to paralyze him.

"Brian? Brian, man is you okay?" Cordy shouted with his body pinned at an awkward angel.

"Come on man, _answer me!_ You okay?"

Again all he could hear was the horn and his own wheezing. His nose was broken and he choked on the blood in his mouth but couldn't find the strength to move against the pain in his limbs. He tried to access the situation and find a solution to getting help. Basically he was on a lonely road miles from the next house, gas or police station; suffering from broken and fractured bones, lacerations and a possible concussion. Physically incapable of ejecting himself from the passenger seat, Cordy began to absorb the possibility that his companion was dead. And worse of all the crash had completely killed his buzz. To move his mangled hands in search for a cellular phone was useless and the chances of service or even functioning were slim to none. A cold numbness was beginning to wrap around him and he vaguely remembered the pretty blonde in First Aid training talking about shock. Cordy had joked later to Brian that he'd like to put her body into shock. Now he wished he'd paid more attention to what her instructions were otherwise he was stuck there until someone happened upon them. Then he would need to call for a second coroner to retrieve two corpses, three if he didn't stop his bleeding. The horn was deafening and he could feel himself beginning to lose consciousness. He had wished the drugs and alcohol would have helped staved off some of the pain, but that was not the case.

"M-Maybe someone heard the crash," he pondered aloud as chills began to envelop him. "Someone will come."

Cordy muttered that mantra to himself as he blacked out and awakened periodically over the next two hours. Each time he was nauseated and in desperate need to relieve himself. The horn had finally died and the headlight was blinking but there was no telling what time it was. Any hope lay in someone from the coroner's office in Chicago having called the one in Haddonfield, informing the latter that the van carrying Michael Myers hadn't arrived on schedule. In that instance someone would make inquiries and begin searching the route that Brian and Cordy were traveling. The only drawback was that the authorities would learn of their drunken debaucheries while on duty, thus forcing Cordy to lose his job. He would lose everything and be incapable of working for months. He could be charged for a bevy of offenses that would easily lead to ten years in jail for careless behavior. Not only that his best friend was going through rigor mortis at his side and the grief was almost more consuming than his pain.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck!" he shouted against the remnants of the dashboard.

"What in the holy fuck am I supposed to do now? Man am I in the shit, nothing could be worse than this,"

Hot fresh tears trailed down his bloody face and he considered if he could possibly hemorrhage to death before the awful events in his mind were able to play out. Cordy lowered his head and tried to remember the prayers his grandmother had taught him as a child but they came out jumbled and with a frustrated sigh he gave up.

"It's coming for me Brian, I can just feel it coming man."

At that moment he felt the van shake and he opened his one good eye with the flickering hope that perhaps Brian wasn't dead. However his head remained crushed into the steering wheel and deflating air bag. Then for a brief second he thought perhaps it was help finally arriving or the cow was still crazily twitching. But deadly silence permeated and he concluded he was mistaken. Only the van went from a slight shudder to shaking and rocking until Cordy feared an earthquake had hit the center of Illinois. He could hear the sound of metal whining and equipment in the back being thrashed around, the jostling was painful to endure and as quickly as it began it ended.

"What the fuck was that?"

Cordy swallowed as bile rose up in his throat and a cold shutter spiraled down his back. If someone was trying to rob that van he would have more trouble to account for but the incessant shaking didn't feel like it was coming from outside or in a particular corner. Cordy felt sweat prickling across the bridge of his nose and his upper lip, a sign of his anxiety heightening as the unthinkable and impossible blossomed in his mind.

"_Shit, no!_" he whispered and heard the distinct thud of heavy footsteps on the asphalt of the road.

"_No, no he's dead, he's fucking dead!_"

The steps drew closer and his mind raced to find a way to escape; he'd rather tangle with the police than what he feared was coming. The thumping of his heartbeat echoed in his ears in perfect time with each footfall and tremors engulfed his broke body. After a tortuous gaze at his deceased friend came the realization that he was crying but hadn't the ability to wipe them away. And then the footsteps stopped.

"Do it, you fucking bastard, _just fucking do it!_"

He couldn't look to the crushed window and there was no need. Cordy could hear the thick breathing and now he knew what all those previous victims had felt in the moments before he acted.

"Do it or I'll fuck your pretty bitch! What's her name? _Ang_—"

Cordy didn't get to finish his mocking his retort dissolved into deep gurgling as the door was wrenched away and the knife torn jaggedly through soft flesh, tissue and muscles. His vocal cords snapped and his head lolled as he struggled to breathe and swallow. The blade was cold but it was swamped in warmth soon enough when it was finally withdrawn. Only a few threads of bone and skin kept the head on the shoulders and blood gushed in a black cascade down the dashboard and all over the corpse and seat.

Onyx eyes looked on and then turned away as he slipped the knife into the side pocket of the soiled uniform. The autumn air was cool against his exposed face and yet he didn't feel vulnerable, just awkward to not have his mask. But he would reclaim her. The deputy who foolishly placed the evidence bag with his knife in the van had done him a favor. As Michael walked rigidly around the front of the crumpled vehicle and the mutilated cow carcass he remembered how he had come to be there. His intention was to die, pure and simple. The bullets should have killed him and he still felt the burning sting from where each piece of hot metal had pierced, seared and torn through him. But he had healed or at least began to while lying in a dormant state for most of the ride until the van hit the unfortunate bovine and the impact awakened him. Now he stood virtually in the middle of nowhere and the bastard that had threatened his precious Angelina was dead.

_Angelina_.

The thought of her made him feel alert and hungry in a primal way. It was her face and voice that filled his head and caused a warm feeling to spread through his limbs and surge into his bullet-riddled chest. She had cried to him to not abandon her, to remain with him even when guns were pointed in their direction. She had cared when no one else, not even Loomis, in those last moments before the darkness swallowed him and he had regretted their parting. Now the residents of Haddonfield would have her and would probably be unsympathetic to her needs and would treat her as an outcast because she had survived him, because she had loved him. The best of them would become a pariah and that made his blood run cold.

Michael turned in the direction of his hometown and took in several deep breaths. He needed to clear his head and place his own death aside. He began walking past the van not caring if his carnage was found and walked with no sense of how far the distance was or for time. He only stopped when he saw a green sign that read in white bold letters:

**"Now Entering Haddonfield: A Tranquil Community"**

For the first time in years without the mask his eyes blackened and a small smile curled his mouth. Despite the dry ache in his throat he murmured hoarsely.

"_Home._"

The End.

**The End! The End? Oh, I just don't want to let this go! Be cool and be patient because I think a sequel is definitely in order! Tell me what you think should happen, what elements from the movies should I borrow from? What do you think should become of Haddonfield's most infamous couple. I'm waiting to hear from you and remember I am a career woman now so I will try my very best to deliver quality work to the best of my ability. Until next time…xoxox Petite!**


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